Hair-braided chestnut,
           coiled like a lyncher's rope,
Eyes-fagots,
Lips-old scars, or the first red blisters,
Breath-the last sweet scent of cane,
And her slim body, white as the ash
           of black flesh after flame.
Back to Jean Toomer
            Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓
            
            
            
            
            
        
        
    



 
                      
			
To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.