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Keepers of the Second Throat

By Patricia Smith

Home > Archives > Volume 25 No.3 - Spring 2011

Let me introduce you to my mother, Annie Pearl Smith of Aliceville, Ala. In the 1950s, along with thousands of other apprehensive but determined Southerners, their eyes locked on the second incarnation of the North Star, she packed up her whole life and headed for the city, with its tenements, its promise, its rows of factories like open mouths feeding on hope.

One day not too long ago, I called my mother, but she was too busy to talk to me. She seemed in a great hurry. When I asked her where she was going, she said, Im on my way to my English lesson.

My Mother Learns English

I.

Jittery emigrant at 64, my mother is learning English.

Pulling rubbery cinnamon-tinged hose to a roll beneath

her knees, sporting one swirling Baptist ski slope of a hat,

she rides the rattling elevated to a Windy City spire

and pulls back her gulp as the elevator hurtles heaven.

Then shes stiffly seated at a scarred oak table

across from a white, government-sanctioned savior

who has dedicated eight hours a week to straightening



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