McGehee 1

Tyler McGehee

Mr. Damaso

Honors English II, Period 1

3 May 2010

Long-Awaited Equality

All, too, will bear in mind this sacred principle, that though

the will of the majority is in all cases to prevail, that will to be rightful must be

reasonable; that the minority possess their equal rights, which equal law must

protect, and to violate would be oppression.

Thomas Jefferson

All around the globe, across the nation, and even right here in our backyard, there are

always signs of racial discrimination and segregation. About a week ago, Arizona passed one of

the most controversial bills in its history with Senate Bill 1070. This bill gives police officers the

right to pick out “random citizens” and ask if they are illegal or not, which violates the rights of

millions of American citizens and segregates them from the rest of society. Even through art

there are visible signs of discrimination. Through organizations like Football Against Racism in

Europe (FARE) to the popular rap of Public Enemy, glimpses of the separation of races can be

seen and shown to all people throughout the world.

Natasha Trethewey can be seen as a true supporter for both of these ways to promote

change, for she writes on how the white population causes the oppression of the black race.

Natasha Trethewey is both a devoted writer of poetry and a professor of English at Emory

University (“Natasha Trethewey,” par. 5). She wrote her three books of poetry from 2000 to

2007, which were the release dates of her first book, Domestic Work, and her third, Native
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Guard (“Natasha Trethewey (1966- )”). Throughout these two books, along with her second

piece of work called Bellocq's Ophelia, her poems “Flounder,” “Native Guard,” and “His Hands”

are the three that best describe the type of poetry that Natasha Trethewey writes, and they best

displays her underlying message of racial inequality. Natasha Trethewey’s poetry attempts to

define the repression and mistreatment of the black population in the United States during and

after the Civil War, and the black communities’ reaction to this oppression.

Natasha Trethewey grew up in such a way that guided her down the path toward creative

writing and poetry. Born in 1966, she grew up in Gulfport, Mississippi, along with some time in

Atlanta, Georgia, but had no documented job other than engulfing herself in books at the library

(“Natasha Trethewey (1966- ),” par. 1). She attended the University of Georgia for her

Bachelor’s degree in English and creative writing, Hollins University for her Master’s degree in

the same subjects, and the University of Massachusetts for her M.G.A. in poetry (“Natasha

Trethewey Biography,” par. 3). There are many different things that may have influenced her to

become a writer of poetry and created her mindset on oppression. Her father, Eric Trethewey,

was also a poet, and her biography on Poetry Foundation says that “She credits her father for not

only encouraging her own writing but for teaching her that what is most important in life

demands hard work and taking risks” (“Natasha Trethewey (1966- ),” par. 1). Also, after her

parent’s divorce, she spent most of her summers with her grandmother in Decatur, Georgia,

which gave her a more feminist view on life in general (“Natasha Trethewey Biography,” par. 1).

The poetry of Natasha Trethewey generally touch on the separation of races through

constant mistreatment of the black population. She expresses a common genre of the

discrimination of black women and men during times of inequality in the United States

(“Natasha Trethewey (1966- ),” par. 3). Consisting of sonnets, traditional ballads, and free verse,
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Trethewey’s poems have been acknowledged by popular critics, such as F.D. Reeve, a journalist

for the journal Poetry, and Rita Dove, a former United States poet laureate (“Natasha Trethewey

(1966- ),” par. 3 and 4). Most of her poems have a basic theme of ordinary black people and

their physical and psychological battles through the oppressive state they are in (“Natasha

Trethewey (1966- ),” par. 3). Many personal experiences have influenced and created her

subject of writing. Great exposure to books as a child in a public library she visited often

probably pushing her into a life of literature (“Natasha Trethewey Biography,” par. 1). Also, her

book of poems named Bellocq’s Ophelia was inspired directly from the work of E.J. Bellocq’s

paintings in his collection called Storyville Portraits, which pictured mixed-race female

prostitution in the red-light districts of New Orleans (“Natasha Trethewey (1966- ),” par. 5).

History, both before Trethewey’s life and throughout it, affected her poetry and her

projection of racial segregation. William Logan writes on Trethewey that, “The daughter of a

black mother and white father, she was raised in the deep South of the Sixties, when the civil

rights acts had still not penetrated the backwaters of her state” (Logan, par. 1). She lived in a

time of disastrous segregation between her race and the white population, and it was especially

hard on her due to her mixed-race family. Other events in history show her influence for writing

her poetry on black oppression. The Native Guard was a group of the first black soldiers that

fought in the Union Army during the Civil War, and Trethewey uses this sanction as the title of

her third book of poems, Native Guard (“Overview: ‘Native Guard’,” par. 1 and 2). Trethewey’s

poems were influenced by both this and the citizens who lived under “the harsh realities of a Jim

Crow South” (“Natasha Trethewey (1966- ),” par. 3).

Natasha Trethewey’s writing on the mistreatment of the black population by the white

race in the United States is portrayed throughout most of her poems, and is prominent in her live
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and her research on the topic. As stated above, the most likely event in her history that affected

her decision to take up the issue of black rights in her poetry comes from the civil rights laws in

the Sixties when Trethewey was only a child (Logan, par. 1). The South during that time was a

disturbing place to live in, for during her childhood only certain areas were being affected by the

new laws, while the other areas were left in the shadows and forgotten about. This ridiculous

way of living was ultimately ended once the laws spread throughout the rest of the South, but the

time that had passed from the start of the Laws to the finalization of them still had segregation

and oppression occurring.

Trethewey’s general genre of poetry, which projects black oppression by the white race,

is best shown by her poems “Flounder,” “Native Guard,” and “His Hands.” In her poem

“Flounder,” you can see that there is a clear distinction between the two different races, instead

of having both of them morphed together as one (Hogue, par. 15). This poem is a reflection of

how the black and white races are the two ends of society in general. Cynthia Hogue, when

speaking about the poem, states, “the child will find herself flip-flopping between the absolutes

of white and black as she grows up” (Hogue, par. 15). We can also see in “Native Guard” that

the theme of black oppression applies by the continuous segregation of freed black slaves during

the Civil War (“Native Guard,” par. 6 and 7). This poem tells a story about the never-ending

oppression of the black race, for even when they are free, their white partners in battle still see

them as different. “His Hands” is the final projection of the black segregation, for it depicts a

scene showing how the white race will not accept the black people, even though it suffers and

offers everything it can for them (“Inscriptive Restorations: An Interview with Natasha

Trethewey,” par. 13). It is a poem about how the white race will not accept the black people into

their society very easily, but it still takes their possessions and benefits from their labor
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(“Inscriptive Restorations: An Interview with Natasha Trethewey,” par. 13). The sources used to

describe these three poems do not provide any bias, for Cynthia Hogue is a writer for The

Women’s Review of Books, Gale Cengage Learning is a coalition of different writers who

contextualized the description and criticism of the work “Native Guard,” and the source

describing “His Hands” was an interview with Natasha Trethewey by Charles Henry Rowell.

Black oppression and segregation is shown in Trethewey’s poem “Flounder.” This poem

shows the urge to solidify the difference between the two human races of black and white (see

Appendix A) This is shown by a number of different lines in the poem, like in line 45. “I stood

there watching that fish flip-flop …” (Trethewey, “Flounder” line 25). From this poem, it is

shown that both races can be seen by the flipping and flopping of the fish, but nothing is done

about it; nothing will stop the flipping between the two races (see Appendix D). This sense of

division is also shown in lines 22-24. “A flounder, she said, and you can tell/'cause one of its

sides is black./The other is white, she said.” (Trethewey, “Flounder” lines 22-24) This line shows

how there is a distinct separation between the two races of white and black people, but also

creates an image of the two matrixes of society that cannot be changed (Hogue, par. 12; 14). But

this also offers hope, for if they cannot be changed, then the black population will always exist,

and will not be engulfed and killed off by the white race. This poem in general shows how the

two races are still part of the same body, but are separated by racial oppression, just like in

Trethewey’s poem “Native Guard.”

““Native Guard” by Natasha Trethewey shows how the black race during the Civil War

was still mistreated even though they had been declared free (see Appendix B). In the overview

of this poem, edited by Ira Mark Milne, it states that this poem “laments the loss of life, dignity,

and freedom” (“Overview: Native Guard,” par. 2). This can be shown by lines five through six
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of this poem, which describe this sense of false freedom. “I thought to carry with me/want of

freedom though I had been freed …” (“Native Guard,” par. 6 lines 5-6). This fragment of the

poem shows that these soldiers have a sense of freedom, but something is stopping them from

feeling fully free, and this thing is the white people still segregating them from society. Just

because they are legally free doesn’t mean they are socially free. This sense of false freedom is

seen again in Trethewey’s poem “His Hands.”

““His Hands” by Natasha Trethewey creates an image of true isolation of the black race

in society by the white population. This poem recreates the theme of black oppression by the

clashing black and white races that have the chance to create a loving relationship with each

other, but instead keep separate and segregate the black population (see Appendix C). “Still he

tries/to prove himself in work” (Trethewey, “His Hands” lines 11-12). This section of the poem

shows the black race is trying to show the white race that they are good and beneficial for

everyone, but he has been working for years and still nothing has changed in their relationship

(see Appendix E). Trethewey also tries to show that the black race has no chance of equality

with this white society when he states “’His Hands’ by Natasha Trethewey/will never be large

enough.” (Trethewey, “His Hands” lines 1-2). The hands of the man symbolize the beneficial

actions that can be done by the oppressed black race, but Trethewey’s word choice of “never”

shows that these actions won’t change the position the black population is situated in (“Inscriptive

Restorations: An Interview with Natasha Trethewey,” par. 12-13).

The musical artist named K’naan wrote his song “Wavin’ Flag” for the celebration of

freedom and love across the world, and unlike Trethewey’s poem “His Hands,” it offers hope

that things can change between the races of our society. The song “Wavin’ Flag” is connected to

the theme of black oppression because it hints on how oppressed people of the world dream of
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freedom, but they do not achieve it because they are always pressed down (“Maclean’s

Interview; K’naan,” par. 4). K’naan is a Somali-Canadian who had moved from Somalia during

a time of war to Rexdale, Ontario, and most of his songs speak about how he wants Somalia to

end war and live in peace and freedom. His song “Wavin’ Flag” was created in 2009 in time for

the World Cup of soccer in South Africa in 2010, and has been designated the official theme

song of the entire tournament (“Maclean’s Interview: K’naan,” par. 1).

““Wavin’ Flag” by K’naan connects to Natasha Trethewey’s overall theme of racial

segregation because it tells of a group of people’s need to be free from oppression. This song is

about how global freedom and the elimination of oppression should occur in our world today, but

do not due to the selfish needs of the dominant populations of society (see Appendix F). The

specific lyrics were created to provide hope for the people in this world that are still trapped

without any freedom. This inspirational song, which came out during Natasha Trethewey’s

lifetime, touches on how these trapped people just want to be free, just as the black population

wanted to be during the time of the civil rights laws in the Sixties. K’naan’s song isn’t just

related to Trethewey’s work; it also has relevance to the paintings of Jacob Lawrence.

The painting by Jacob Lawrence called “Panel No. 17: “Tenant farmers received harsh

treatment at the hands of planters” shows the white man forcing slave labor onto the black

people. Lawrence’s painting and Trethewey’s literary thread of poems both touch on the

segregation and discrimination of black citizens in the US (“17.-20. Jacob Lawrence (1917-

2000),” par. 10). Jacob Lawrence, a painter and story teller, painted pictures of the African-

American struggle during the twentieth century (“17.-20. Jacob Lawrence (1917-2000),” par. 1).

Although this piece of art was published in 1940-41, which is about 25 years before the birth of
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Natasha Trethewey, the subjects described by his piece of art were still important and relevant

during the time of Trethewey’s life.

Jacob Lawrence’s painting “Panel No. 17” projects the theme of black oppression in

Trethewey’s poems because it describes the domination of the black slaves by the white race.

This particular piece of work shows two black slaves doing slave services for a white farmer (see

Appendix G). In this painting, there are many different perspective views that can be used to see

the image of oppression. It is pointed out in the description of the painting that the white man is

“literally and metaphorically higher in the composition,” showing a position of power over the

black slaves (“17.-20. Jacob Lawrence (1917-2000),” par. 10). The painting shows the reasons

for why the black population in the South moved north, and these reasons were still imperative to

deal with during Natasha Trethewey’s life.

Natasha Trethewey and her poems on black oppression are directly related to

Trethewey’s childhood of civil rights laws and past oppression in the South, along with K’naan

song “Wavin’ Flag” and Jacob Lawrence’s painting “Panel No. 17.” All of her poems relate to

the problems with the segregation of black people by the dominant white population in past

events in the United States. Her theme of black oppression throughout all of these sources can

also be seen especially in FARE, the rap of Public Enemy, and the Senate Bill 1070 passed in

Arizona recently. From these examples, this issue of racial oppression that Trethewey is writing

about is still happening throughout the world today. If we look around, there are always these

pockets of oppression all across the globe, and Natasha Trethewey is calling on us as her readers

to change this. Her style and subject matter apply to the whole world so that her message can be

spread to anybody, and all people can do something to stop this issue of racial oppression.
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One really good thing that you did was using a lot of sources. You had a lot of evidence

to back up your points and your literary thread, but I think your thread can be narrowed down

because it long and a little confusing. For example: “Natasha Trethewey’s poetry attempts to

define the repression and mistreatment of the black population”, when you say this you could

narrow it down to “Natasha Trethewey’s poetry displays the repression of African Americans”.

Also, when you add at the end “, and the black communities reaction to this”, what does that

mean? It is a very confusing literary thread and it could be a lot clearer.

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Works Cited

““17.-20. Jacob Lawrence (1917-2000).” The Phillips Collection. The Phillips Collection, n.d.

pgs 93-98. Web. 21 April 2010.

““Natasha Trethewey.” Poets.org. The Academy of American Poets, n.d. Web. 24 March 2010.

<http://poets.org/>.

““Natasha Trethewey (1966 - ).” PoetryFoundation.org. N.p, n.d. Web. 24 March 2010.

<http://www.poetryfoundation.org/>.

““Natasha Trethewey Biography.” FamousPoetsandPoems.com. N.p, n.d. Web. 24 March 2010.

<http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/>.

""Overview: 'Native Guard'." Poetry for Students. Ed. Ira Mark Milne. Vol. 29. Detroit: Gale,

2009. Literature Resource Center. Web. 1 Apr. 2010.

""Native Guard." Poetry for Students. Ed. Ira Mark Milne. Vol. 29. Detroit: Gale, 2009. 182-204.

Poetry for Students. Web. 27 Apr. 2010.

Hogue, Cynthia. "Poets without borders." The Women's Review of Books May 2001: 15.

Literature Resource Center. Web. 12 Apr. 2010.

““Maclean’s Interview: K’naan.” Interview by Charlie Gillis. Maclean’s 6 April 2010: n.d. Web.

21 April 2010.

Lawrence, Jacob. “Panel No. 17: “Tenant farmers received harsh treatment at the hands of

planters.” 1940-41. African American World. PBS. Web. 21 April 2010.

Logan, William. "God's chatter." New Criterion 25.4 (2006): 59+. Literature Resource Center.

Web. 25 Mar. 2010. <http://go.galegroup.com/>.

Trethewey, Natasha. “Flounder.” The Poetry Foundation. The Poetry Foundation, n.d. Web. 28

Mar. 2010.
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---.---. “His Hands.” African American Review. Terre Haute: Indiana State University, 1995.

83-86. JStor.org. Web. 13 April 2010.

Trethewey, Natasha. Interview by Rowell, Charles Henry. “Inscriptive Restorations: An Interview

with Natasha Trethewey.” Callaloo, Vol. 27, No. 4, Contemporary African-American

Poetry: A New Wave (Autumn, 2004), pp. 1022-1034.

Warsame, Keinan Abdi. “Wavin' Flag Lyrics.” Metrolyrics. Metroleap Media, n.d. Web. 21

April 2010.
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Appendix A

“Flounder” by Natasha Trethewey, 2000

Here, she said, put this on your head.

She handed me a hat.
you 'bout as white as your dad,
and you gone stay like that.
 
Aunt Sugar rolled her nylons down 5
around each bony ankle,
and I rolled down my white knee socks
letting my thin legs dangle,

circling them just above water

and silver backs of minnows 10
flitting here then there between
the sun spots and the shadows.

This is how you hold the pole

to cast the line out straight.
Now put that worm on your hook, 15
throw it out and wait.

She sat spitting tobacco juice

into a coffee cup.
Hunkered down when she felt the bite,
jerked the pole straight up 20

reeling and tugging hard at the fish

that wriggled and tried to fight back.
A flounder, she said, and you can tell
'cause one of its sides is black.

The other is white, she said. 25

It landed with a thump.
I stood there watching that fish flip-flop,
switch sides with every jump.
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Appendix B

“Native Guard” by Natasha Trethewey, 2006

If this war be forgotten, I ask in the name of all things sacred what shall men remember?

Frederick Douglass

November 1862

Truth be told, I do not want to forget

anything of my former life: the landscape's

song of bondage—dirge in the river's throat

where it churns into the Gulf, wind in trees

choked with vines. I thought to carry with me 5

want of freedom though I had been freed,

remembrance not constant recollection.

Yes: I was born a slave, at harvest time,

in the Parish of Ascension; I've reached

thirty-three with history of one younger 10

inscribed upon my back. I now use ink

to keep record, a closed book, not the lure

of memory—flawed, changeful—that dulls the lash

for the master, sharpens it for the slave.

December 1862

For the slave, having a master sharpens 15

the bend into work, the way the sergeant

moves us now to perfect battalion drill,

dress parade. Still, we're called supply units

not infantry—and so we dig trenches,

 McGehee 14

haul burdens for the army no less heavy 20

than before. I heard the colonel call it

nigger work. Half rations make our work

familiar still. We take those things we need

from the Confederates' abandoned homes:

salt, sugar, even this journal, near full 25

with someone else's words, overlapped now,

crosshatched beneath mine. On every page,

his story intersecting with my own.

January 1863

O how history intersects—my own

berth upon a ship called the Northern Star 30

and I'm delivered into a new life,

Fort Massachusetts: a great irony—

both path and destination of freedom

I'd not dared to travel. Here, now, I walk

ankle-deep in sand, fly-bitten, nearly 35

smothered by heat, and yet I can look out

upon the Gulf and see the surf breaking,

tossing the ships, the great gunboats bobbing

on the water. And are we not the same,

slaves in the hands of the master, destiny? 40

—night sky red with the promise of fortune,

dawn pink as new flesh: healing, unfettered.

January 1863

Today, dawn red as warning. Unfettered

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supplies, stacked on the beach at our landing,

washed away in the storm that rose too fast, 45

caught us unprepared. Later, as we worked,

I joined in the low singing someone raised

to pace us, and felt a bond in labor

I had not known. It was then a dark man

removed his shirt, revealed the scars, crosshatched 50

like the lines in this journal, on his back.

It was he who remarked at how the ropes

cracked like whips on the sand, made us take note

of the wild dance of a tent loosed by wind.

We watched and learned. Like any shrewd master, 55

we know now to tie down what we will keep.

February 1863

We know it is our duty now to keep

white men as prisoners—rebel soldiers,

would-be masters. We're all bondsmen here, each

to the other. Freedom has gotten them 60

captivity. For us, a conscription

we have chosen—jailors to those who still

would have us slaves. They are cautious, dreading

the sight of us. Some neither read nor write,

are laid too low and have few words to send 65

but those I give them. Still, they are wary

of a negro writing, taking down letters.

X binds them to the page—a mute symbol

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like the cross on a grave. I suspect they fear

I'll listen, put something else down in ink. 70

March 1863

I listen, put down in ink what I know

they labor to say between silences

too big for words: worry for beloveds—

My Dearest, how are you getting along—

what has become of their small plots of land— 75

did you harvest enough food to put by?

They long for the comfort of former lives—

I see you as you were, waving goodbye.

Some send photographs—a likeness in case

the body can't return. Others dictate 80

harsh facts of this war: The hot air carries

the stench of limbs, rotten in the bone pit.

Flies swarm—a black cloud. We hunger, grow weak.

When men die, we eat their share of hardtack.

April 1863

When men die, we eat their share of hardtack 85

trying not to recall their hollow sockets,

the worm-stitch of their cheeks. Today we buried

the last of our dead from Pascagoula,

and those who died retreating to our ship—

white sailors in blue firing upon us 90

as if we were the enemy. I'd thought

the fighting over, then watched a man fall

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beside me, knees-first as in prayer, then

another, his arms outstretched as if borne

upon the cross. Smoke that rose from each gun 95

seemed a soul departing. The Colonel said:

an unfortunate incident; said:

their names shall deck the page of history.

June 1863

Some names shall deck the page of history

as it is written on stone. Some will not. 100

Yesterday, word came of colored troops, dead

on the battlefield at Port Hudson; how

General Banks was heard to say I have

no dead there, and left them, unclaimed. Last night,

I dreamt their eyes still open—dim, clouded 105

as the eyes of fish washed ashore, yet fixed—

staring back at me. Still, more come today

eager to enlist. Their bodies—haggard

faces, gaunt limbs—bring news of the mainland.

Starved, they suffer like our prisoners. Dying, 110

they plead for what we do not have to give.

Death makes equals of us all: a fair master.

August 1864

Dumas was a fair master to us all.

He taught me to read and write: I was a man-

servant, if not a man. At my work, 115

I studied natural things—all manner

 McGehee 18

of plants, birds I draw now in my book: wren,

willet, egret, loon. Tending the gardens,

I thought only to study live things, thought

never to know so much about the dead. 120

Now I tend Ship Island graves, mounds like dunes

that shift and disappear. I record names,

send home simple notes, not much more than how

and when—an official duty. I'm told

it's best to spare most detail, but I know 125

there are things which must be accounted for.

1865

These are things which must be accounted for:

slaughter under the white flag of surrender—

black massacre at Fort Pillow; our new name,

the Corps d'Afrique—words that take the native 130

from our claim; mossbacks and freedmen—exiles

in their own homeland; the diseased, the maimed,

every lost limb, and what remains: phantom

ache, memory haunting an empty sleeve;

the hog-eaten at Gettysburg, unmarked 135

in their graves; all the dead letters, unanswered;

untold stories of those that time will render

mute. Beneath battlefields, green again,

the dead molder—a scaffolding of bone

we tread upon, forgetting. Truth be told. 140

 McGehee 19

Appendix C

“His Hands” by Natasha Trethewey, 2000

will never be large enough.

Not for the woman
who sees in his face

the father she can’t remember,

or her first husband, the one 5
with two wives – all the men
who would only take.
Not large enough to deflect
the sharp edges of her words.

Still he tries 10
to prove himself in work,
his callused hands heaving crates
all day on the docks, his pay
twice spent. He bring home
what he can, buckets of crabs 15
from his morning traps,
a few green bananas.

His supper waits

in the warming oven, the kitchen
dark, the screens hooked. He thinks 20
Make the hands gentle as he raps
lightly at the back door.
He has never had a key.

Putting her hands

to his, she pulls him in, sets him 25
by the stove. Slowly, without words,
she rubs oil into his cracked palms
drawing out soreness from the swells,
removing splinters, taking
whatever his hands will give. 30
 McGehee 20

Appendix D
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Appendix E
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Appendix F

“Wavin’ Flag” by K’Naan, Troubadour (2009)

When I get older I will be stronger

They’ll call me freedom, just like a wavin' flag
 
When I get older, I will be stronger
They'll call me freedom just like a wavin’ flag
And then it goes back, and then it goes back
And then it goes back, oh
 
Born to a throne, stronger than Rome
A violent prone, poor people zone
But it’s my home, all I have known
Where I got grown, streets we would roam
 
Out of the darkness, I came the farthest
Among the hardest survival
Learn from these streets, it can be bleak
Accept no defeat, surrender, retreat
 
So we struggling, fighting to eat
And we wondering when we'll be free
So we patiently wait for that fateful day
It’s not far away, but for now we say
 
When I get older I will be stronger
They’ll call me freedom just like a wavin' flag
And then it goes back, and then it goes back
And then it goes back, oh

So many wars, settling scores

Bringing us promises, leaving us poor
I heard them say ‘love is the way’
'Love is the answer,’ that’s what they say
 
But look how they treat us, make us believers
We fight their battles, then they deceive us
Try to control us, they couldn’t hold us
‘Cause we just move forward like Buffalo Soldiers
 
But we struggling, fighting to eat
And we wondering, when we’ll be free
So we patiently wait for that faithful day
It’s not far away but for now we say
 McGehee 23

 
When I get older I will be stronger
They’ll call me freedom just like a wavin’ flag
And then it goes back, and then it goes back
And then it goes back, and then is goes
 
When I get older I will be stronger
They’ll call me freedom just like a wavin’ flag
And then it goes back, and then it goes back
And then it goes back, and then it goes
And then it goes

And everybody will be singing it

And you and I will be singing it
And we all will be singing it
 
When I get older I will be stronger
They’ll call me freedom just like a wavin’ flag
And then it goes back, and then it goes back
And then it goes back, and then it goes
 
When I get older I will be stronger
They’ll call me freedom just like a wavin' flag
And then it goes back, and then it goes back
And then it goes back, oh
 
When I get older, when I get older
I will be stronger just like a wavin' flag
Just like a wavin' flag, just like a wavin' flag
Flag, flag, just like a wavin' flag
 McGehee 24

Appendix G

“Panel No. 17: “Tenant farmers received harsh treatment at the hands of planters” by Jacob

Lawrence, 1940-41.

Appendix H
Emulation Poem
“Flounder” by Natasha Trethewey
Here, she said, put this on your head.
She handed me a hat.
you 'bout as white as your dad,
and you gone stay like that.
 
Aunt Sugar rolled her nylons down
around each bony ankle,
and I rolled down my white knee socks
letting my thin legs dangle,
circling them just above water
and silver backs of minnows
flitting here then there between
the sun spots and the shadows.
This is how you hold the pole
to cast the line out straight.
Now put that worm on your hook,
throw it out and wait.
She sat spitting tobacco juice
into a coffee cup.
Hunkered down when she felt the bite,
jerked the pole straight up
reeling and tugging hard at the fish
that wriggled and tried to fight back.
A flounder, she said, and you can tell
'cause one of its sides is black.
The other is white, she said.
It landed with a thump.
I stood there watching that fish flip-flop,
switch sides with every jump.
McGehee 25
“Soccer Ball” by Tyler McGehee
After Natasha Trethewey
Here, he said, put this on your face.
He tossed me some sun block.
You have fair skin like your mother,
and I don’t want you lookin’ like a rock.
Uncle Eugene walked toward the sideline,
his lack of strength causing a slow pace,
and I pulled up my soccer socks,
strutting slowly across the field’s base,
arriving at my position on the field
as a shrieking noise by the whistle of brass
started the game, and the black and white
panels turned gray rolling across the grass.
Chase the ball down, son,
to trap them in the space.
Search for a way to close them down
and win the ball with haste.
He relaxed on the sideline,
taking down an energy bar.
Not paying attention once the ball was won,
But his immediate reaction was bizarre,
jumping and screaming to push onward
to guide the ball past the defensive wall.
They’ve got possession, he said, ‘cause their
feet are surrounding all sides of the ball.
The black and white panels fused in color,
I ran down the field looking very lean.
Examining the ball’s changing colors as it
rolled down the discolored pitch of green
McGehee 26