MCDONOGH DAY IN NEW ORLEANS by Marcus B. Christian.

The cotton blouse you wear, your mother said,
After a day of toil, “I guess I’ll buy it”;
For ribbons on your head and blouse she paid
Two-bits a yard-as if you would deny it!

And nights, after a day of kitchen toil,
She stitched your re-made skirt of serge-once blue-
Weary of eye, beneath a lamp of oil:
McDonogh would be proud of her and you.

Next, came white “creepers” and white stockings, too-
They almost asked her blood when they were sold;
Like some dark princess, to the school go you,
With blue larkspur and yellow marigold;
But few would know-or even guess this fact:
How dear come beauty when a skin is black….

Reprinted by permission of Marcus B. Christian.