Tar Baby

the humiliations of immigrant life which U.S. citizenship did not change.

Anarchic, wandering, they read about their hometowns in the pages of out-of-town newspapers.

Did he do anything hard for you? Did he give up anything important for you?”

the fruit of the banana trees puffed up and stiff like the fingers of gouty kings.

Like blazing jewels, the subway cars burst from the tunnels to the platforms shining with the recognizable artifacts of childhood: fantasy, magic, ego, energy, humor and paint.

Quite unlike her tips, where all of her strength was. Direction, focus, aggression, tenacity—all that was tough and survivalist in her lay in the tips of her fingers, the tips of her toes, her nose tip, her chin tip, and he suspected her breast tips were tiny brass knobs

Here prestressed concrete and steel contained anger, folded it back on itself to become a craving for things rather than vengeance.

The manifesto was simple: “Talk shit. Take none.”

Mama-spoiled black man, will you mature with me? Culture-bearing black woman, whose culture are you bearing?