Natasha Trethewey

Domestic Work, 1937

All week she’s cleaned Someone else’s house, Stared down her own face In the shine of copper Bottomed pots, polished Wood, toilets she’d pull The lid to that look saying Let’s make a change,

Flounder

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

Letter Home

New Orleans, November 1910 Four weeks have passed since I left, and still I must write to you of no work. I’ve worn down The soles and walked through the tightness Of my new