A Bronzeville Mother Loiters In Mississippi. Meanwhile, A Mississippi Mother Burns
Bacon._- Gwendolyn Brooks
From the rst it had been like a
Ballad. It had the beat inevitable. It had the blood.
A wildness cut up, and tied in little bunches,
Like the four
[adapted from A fterimages_ by A udre L orde].
E mmet Till rides the crest of the Pearl, whistling
a .and a white girl has grown older in costly honor
(what did she pay to never know its price?)
now the Pearl River speaks its muddy judgement
and I can wit