Just look at me
they got me out here
wearing a dress
heels
makeup
hope Mama’s proud
she sure does look like it
looking at me and squealing
like proud mamas do when
their baby looks something
like she came from them
her squeals bounce
from every wall of this hotel lobby
her screams shake from
her fragile body exploding
like she’s shocked by her own joy
unsteady heels click
against the tile toward the person she can say
was the best thing she ever did
with her life
Here’s the scene: I’m seventeen and graduating
from high school
and this weekend I learn to juggle
my father and his new wife
are on their way to the Home of the Chicago Doves
decked out, like they’re about to glide down the church’s red carpet
him in his crispiest suit, her bulging from a flowered dress
my baby brother dressed
as Dad’s mini identical twin
belted in the back seat
of my father’s golden Toyota Camry
is giddy knowing nothing
about what day it is
or how his big sister
will survive it
after picking up her own mommy
keeping her seated somewhere
she can fidget
far from his side of the family
Mama fidgets
in my passenger seat
more on edge than me
maybe cause it’s been
like five years since we’ve seen
each other but she is here
scoffs under her breath
thinking, just like her
this hoopty is proof
of yet another thing
I don’t need
shrugs away small thoughts
not knowing
Dad demanded
I save and buy my first Camry
myself
sits and tugs
at her lopsided wig
pulls down the mirror
reapplies bloodred lipstick
smudges some on her cheeks
with her fingers
and I thank god knowing
without this
I may not
recognize her
We pull into my high school’s parking lot
for the last day I will ever have to smile at these people like I ever belonged here / for the ten minutes it takes Mama and me to get to the stands along the football field, a place she has never seen / I imagine the sounds of our heels to be / like a song we are for once dancing to together / today / I’m not angry / at her slurred speech / I’m not angry / at her missing teeth / I’m not angry / at her fuss / I’m not angry / that she looks nothing like / the last time I saw her / or that / I don’t know when the next time will be / for the ten minutes it takes Mama and me to get to the stands along the football field / I’m just happy we’re both here / alive
My name is Ada
but not really
it’s what my father’s side
calls me cause I was born
first
and on this day
I’m only three months
from leaving this place behind
they tell me there’s
a big world out there
and they tell me
there’s so much I can do
and I know nothing
but this city
but my father
but these schools
where I’ve always
been one of few specks
of dingy brown
in a sea of perfect white
but I know the bible
and I know how to do
the right things
so how hard could college
really be
How hard could it be to
1. Find a dress that both Mama and Dad would like.
2. Make sure the dress was loose enough to hide all my heavy.
3. Put on heels I could stand for more than three hours.
4. Pick Mama up in my own car.
5. Get Mama to my soon-to-be old school.
6. Sit Mama somewhere I could see her.
7. Run back and forth between Mama and Dad.
8. Smile for every camera.
9. Smile with Mama.
10. Smile when Mama insists that she be the first, after it’s over, to have dinner with me.
Dad smiles for his final picture with me
loosening the awkward grip
tightly held on the outside
of my right arm
his sharp signature cologne
left to linger across
my shoulders
a scent just as strong
as the bass
in the shifting tone of his voice
proud of you, Kid
you did good
he says
as if I’d done
my entire high school bid
just now, all in one day
thanks, Dad
I smile back, bashful
warm under the way
he looks at me
on the days
I do right
standing back I look
at the softness peeking through
thick folds of my father’s face
watch yet another attempt
to pull his belted suit pants
over the bottom of his round belly
now at the end of a long day
under the football field sun with beads of sweat
faithfully dabbed across his widow’s peak
by an old white cloth always tucked
in his back pocket basking in the praise
of his job well done
After the pictures are done
caught back and forth
on opposite sides
of the crowded field
buzzing with families proud
of children
they don’t really know
we pull into the driveway
as the sky surrounding Dad’s house
is deepening toward black from gray
Mama glances toward
his front door and back
toward the road behind us
scared
I think to place a hand
on her trembling shoulder
but settle for telling her it’s okay, Mom
tell her we’ll be a minute
tell her I just need to change
tell her they’re not home yet
but Dad’s house is my house too
Mama looks back at me
wanting too much
to see where I live
but too proud to admit
she needs my permission
stares into the side of my face
hungry for any scrap
I might drop for her to catch
reaches for my hand
as I lift it just in time
from the gear stick for her to miss
shifting my foot
from the brake pedal
checking my phone for the time
I tell Mama
we’ve got thirty minutes
before my father and that woman
come home
Some kids grew up coming home
to the smell of mustard greens
special recipe mac and cheese
cornbread from scratch and cookies
baking in the oven
to the sound of their mama
screamin at somebody on the tv
getting on her nerves for the tenth time
while she watches the same shows
announcing to the whole house
that this will be
the last time I trip
over a child’s raggedy school shoes
or telling them you better
clean up that funky alleyway
that you like to call
your bedroom
some kids grew up
being asked about
why their grades ain’t
better than that and fussin
over homework they need to do
but my mama
was different
my mama just
wasn’t reallythe type
To keep tabs on me like that
wasn’t really my mama’s style I learned years ago
when she started asking me my age
I’d look back at her and wonder
how she could forget when she had me
how she could push out a whole person
and just forget
Mama and I both forget
about time the minute I turn the key
unlocking the front door to Dad’s house
suddenly it’s like we’re surrounded
by a museum of forbidden family
knowing she can look but not touch
Mama is everywhere her feet
take her wanting to see what we’ve
been up to while she’s away
the walls covered with me at every age
that she struggles to remember
Mama getting lost in all the picture frames
my fancy life of birthday parties and school plays
my first dance recital on a park stage
dressed in colorful West African cloth like the other girls
a buzz from my phone reminds me
to get her upstairs so I can change my clothes
From upstairs I can hear Dad’s car door slam
and I know they are home already
Mama’s fidgets come back again
and I’m angry
when just seconds ago
her soft hands were gliding
across my pictures
my clothes
my animals
stuffed with love
and a pillow with her picture
stuck inside its plastic cover frame
freshly painted red fingernails
touching just about everything
happy to be in the room
where her child sleeps
happy to be inside
and here she is
now filled with fear
filled with how they will see her
a stranger squatting
in her own daughter’s
bedroom
I run from my room
closing the door behind me /
down the stairs / I run / so I can
smile and twirl / real sweet once more /
for Dad / and his new wife
to dance / in their still-fresh
pride of the new high school graduate
where is she, Dad asks
I tell him
she is upstairs
tell him
we’ll only be a few minutes
tell him
this is my house too
his new wife looks and sucks her teeth
upstairs, one of the first, down here the last
my baby brother off playing and oblivious
and suddenly I know somewhere
it’s written, somewhere it says
my mama shouldn’t be here
Mama shouldn’t be here
so we’re gone quick and quiet five minutes later to eat anywhere but here and Mama is cussin but I smile and turn on the radio, blast the ac cause it’s just her and me
I ask her where she wants to go and she tells meanywhere girl I’m with my baby
I knew we shouldn’t have gone in there! chile, did you see how she was lookin
I pretend it’s all nothing and drive us to my favorite restaurant thumping my fingers
on my lap to the beat, leave Mama to keep talking and talking to the tune of herself
She already answered this herself
when I come back to the motel for her the next day
a question she asks in the car on the way
to my graduation party and it sounds like some
kind of silly joke where she’s playing or must have
forgotten the party where we are headed is for me
I don’t really feel
like bein bothered
with all them people
all them people I don’t know
and they just gon be
lookin at me and I’m just gon be
sittin by myself and I just ain’t
in the mood to be bothered, you know
I ask her what she wants to do instead
but tell her I’m going to my party, after all
it was thrown for me, it’s either she comes
or she gets on the next train back, cause
today is supposed to be about me
oh I don’t know but
I don’t feel like bein bothered
I really ain’t tryna go to no party
she says
Away from the party on this drive to the train station
it’s only silent for a few minutes
before I’m called every name
I’m sure I’m not supposed to be
called by my mama but I know
this is how she says she’s angry
this is how she says this is her day too
this is how she says she’s sorry
in her own way, as a mother
for breaking all the rules
The first thing I do after everyone is gone
is shut the door
close the blinds
sometimes being dramatic
is my thing but
this really was
the first time I’ve seen
this much cash
ever
the room I’d slept in
for the past seven years
painted a Pepto-Bismol pink
was now marked
an old green
at the center
I’d opened each
graduation card alone
skipped Hallmark notes
telling me Good Job! and Great Things Ahead!
skipped every Congrats on your big day!
in search of what mattered most
told Dad I didn’t feel like
being mushy
in front of all
those people
but truth is
I just wanted
to count my money
in peace
Provides questions, discussion topics, suggested reading lists, introductions and/or author Q&As, which are intended to enhance reading groups’ experiences.
(Please note: the guide displayed here is the most recently uploaded version; while unlikely, any page citation discrepancies between the guide and book is likely due to pagination differences between a book’s different formats.)
Just look at me
they got me out here
wearing a dress
heels
makeup
hope Mama’s proud
she sure does look like it
looking at me and squealing
like proud mamas do when
their baby looks something
like she came from them
her squeals bounce
from every wall of this hotel lobby
her screams shake from
her fragile body exploding
like she’s shocked by her own joy
unsteady heels click
against the tile toward the person she can say
was the best thing she ever did
with her life
Here’s the scene: I’m seventeen and graduating
from high school
and this weekend I learn to juggle
my father and his new wife
are on their way to the Home of the Chicago Doves
decked out, like they’re about to glide down the church’s red carpet
him in his crispiest suit, her bulging from a flowered dress
my baby brother dressed
as Dad’s mini identical twin
belted in the back seat
of my father’s golden Toyota Camry
is giddy knowing nothing
about what day it is
or how his big sister
will survive it
after picking up her own mommy
keeping her seated somewhere
she can fidget
far from his side of the family
Mama fidgets
in my passenger seat
more on edge than me
maybe cause it’s been
like five years since we’ve seen
each other but she is here
scoffs under her breath
thinking, just like her
this hoopty is proof
of yet another thing
I don’t need
shrugs away small thoughts
not knowing
Dad demanded
I save and buy my first Camry
myself
sits and tugs
at her lopsided wig
pulls down the mirror
reapplies bloodred lipstick
smudges some on her cheeks
with her fingers
and I thank god knowing
without this
I may not
recognize her
We pull into my high school’s parking lot
for the last day I will ever have to smile at these people like I ever belonged here / for the ten minutes it takes Mama and me to get to the stands along the football field, a place she has never seen / I imagine the sounds of our heels to be / like a song we are for once dancing to together / today / I’m not angry / at her slurred speech / I’m not angry / at her missing teeth / I’m not angry / at her fuss / I’m not angry / that she looks nothing like / the last time I saw her / or that / I don’t know when the next time will be / for the ten minutes it takes Mama and me to get to the stands along the football field / I’m just happy we’re both here / alive
My name is Ada
but not really
it’s what my father’s side
calls me cause I was born
first
and on this day
I’m only three months
from leaving this place behind
they tell me there’s
a big world out there
and they tell me
there’s so much I can do
and I know nothing
but this city
but my father
but these schools
where I’ve always
been one of few specks
of dingy brown
in a sea of perfect white
but I know the bible
and I know how to do
the right things
so how hard could college
really be
How hard could it be to
1. Find a dress that both Mama and Dad would like.
2. Make sure the dress was loose enough to hide all my heavy.
3. Put on heels I could stand for more than three hours.
4. Pick Mama up in my own car.
5. Get Mama to my soon-to-be old school.
6. Sit Mama somewhere I could see her.
7. Run back and forth between Mama and Dad.
8. Smile for every camera.
9. Smile with Mama.
10. Smile when Mama insists that she be the first, after it’s over, to have dinner with me.
Dad smiles for his final picture with me
loosening the awkward grip
tightly held on the outside
of my right arm
his sharp signature cologne
left to linger across
my shoulders
a scent just as strong
as the bass
in the shifting tone of his voice
proud of you, Kid
you did good
he says
as if I’d done
my entire high school bid
just now, all in one day
thanks, Dad
I smile back, bashful
warm under the way
he looks at me
on the days
I do right
standing back I look
at the softness peeking through
thick folds of my father’s face
watch yet another attempt
to pull his belted suit pants
over the bottom of his round belly
now at the end of a long day
under the football field sun with beads of sweat
faithfully dabbed across his widow’s peak
by an old white cloth always tucked
in his back pocket basking in the praise
of his job well done
After the pictures are done
caught back and forth
on opposite sides
of the crowded field
buzzing with families proud
of children
they don’t really know
we pull into the driveway
as the sky surrounding Dad’s house
is deepening toward black from gray
Mama glances toward
his front door and back
toward the road behind us
scared
I think to place a hand
on her trembling shoulder
but settle for telling her it’s okay, Mom
tell her we’ll be a minute
tell her I just need to change
tell her they’re not home yet
but Dad’s house is my house too
Mama looks back at me
wanting too much
to see where I live
but too proud to admit
she needs my permission
stares into the side of my face
hungry for any scrap
I might drop for her to catch
reaches for my hand
as I lift it just in time
from the gear stick for her to miss
shifting my foot
from the brake pedal
checking my phone for the time
I tell Mama
we’ve got thirty minutes
before my father and that woman
come home
Some kids grew up coming home
to the smell of mustard greens
special recipe mac and cheese
cornbread from scratch and cookies
baking in the oven
to the sound of their mama
screamin at somebody on the tv
getting on her nerves for the tenth time
while she watches the same shows
announcing to the whole house
that this will be
the last time I trip
over a child’s raggedy school shoes
or telling them you better
clean up that funky alleyway
that you like to call
your bedroom
some kids grew up
being asked about
why their grades ain’t
better than that and fussin
over homework they need to do
but my mama
was different
my mama just
wasn’t reallythe type
To keep tabs on me like that
wasn’t really my mama’s style I learned years ago
when she started asking me my age
I’d look back at her and wonder
how she could forget when she had me
how she could push out a whole person
and just forget
Mama and I both forget
about time the minute I turn the key
unlocking the front door to Dad’s house
suddenly it’s like we’re surrounded
by a museum of forbidden family
knowing she can look but not touch
Mama is everywhere her feet
take her wanting to see what we’ve
been up to while she’s away
the walls covered with me at every age
that she struggles to remember
Mama getting lost in all the picture frames
my fancy life of birthday parties and school plays
my first dance recital on a park stage
dressed in colorful West African cloth like the other girls
a buzz from my phone reminds me
to get her upstairs so I can change my clothes
From upstairs I can hear Dad’s car door slam
and I know they are home already
Mama’s fidgets come back again
and I’m angry
when just seconds ago
her soft hands were gliding
across my pictures
my clothes
my animals
stuffed with love
and a pillow with her picture
stuck inside its plastic cover frame
freshly painted red fingernails
touching just about everything
happy to be in the room
where her child sleeps
happy to be inside
and here she is
now filled with fear
filled with how they will see her
a stranger squatting
in her own daughter’s
bedroom
I run from my room
closing the door behind me /
down the stairs / I run / so I can
smile and twirl / real sweet once more /
for Dad / and his new wife
to dance / in their still-fresh
pride of the new high school graduate
where is she, Dad asks
I tell him
she is upstairs
tell him
we’ll only be a few minutes
tell him
this is my house too
his new wife looks and sucks her teeth
upstairs, one of the first, down here the last
my baby brother off playing and oblivious
and suddenly I know somewhere
it’s written, somewhere it says
my mama shouldn’t be here
Mama shouldn’t be here
so we’re gone quick and quiet five minutes later to eat anywhere but here and Mama is cussin but I smile and turn on the radio, blast the ac cause it’s just her and me
I ask her where she wants to go and she tells meanywhere girl I’m with my baby
I knew we shouldn’t have gone in there! chile, did you see how she was lookin
I pretend it’s all nothing and drive us to my favorite restaurant thumping my fingers
on my lap to the beat, leave Mama to keep talking and talking to the tune of herself
She already answered this herself
when I come back to the motel for her the next day
a question she asks in the car on the way
to my graduation party and it sounds like some
kind of silly joke where she’s playing or must have
forgotten the party where we are headed is for me
I don’t really feel
like bein bothered
with all them people
all them people I don’t know
and they just gon be
lookin at me and I’m just gon be
sittin by myself and I just ain’t
in the mood to be bothered, you know
I ask her what she wants to do instead
but tell her I’m going to my party, after all
it was thrown for me, it’s either she comes
or she gets on the next train back, cause
today is supposed to be about me
oh I don’t know but
I don’t feel like bein bothered
I really ain’t tryna go to no party
she says
Away from the party on this drive to the train station
it’s only silent for a few minutes
before I’m called every name
I’m sure I’m not supposed to be
called by my mama but I know
this is how she says she’s angry
this is how she says this is her day too
this is how she says she’s sorry
in her own way, as a mother
for breaking all the rules
The first thing I do after everyone is gone
is shut the door
close the blinds
sometimes being dramatic
is my thing but
this really was
the first time I’ve seen
this much cash
ever
the room I’d slept in
for the past seven years
painted a Pepto-Bismol pink
was now marked
an old green
at the center
I’d opened each
graduation card alone
skipped Hallmark notes
telling me Good Job! and Great Things Ahead!
skipped every Congrats on your big day!
in search of what mattered most
told Dad I didn’t feel like
being mushy
in front of all
those people
but truth is
I just wanted
to count my money
in peace
Provides questions, discussion topics, suggested reading lists, introductions and/or author Q&As, which are intended to enhance reading groups’ experiences.
(Please note: the guide displayed here is the most recently uploaded version; while unlikely, any page citation discrepancies between the guide and book is likely due to pagination differences between a book’s different formats.)
For National Poetry Month in April, we are sharing poetry collections and books about poetry by authors who share history, culture, beauty, and emotion through their work. Poetry Month – Middle School Titles Poetry Month – High School Titles
All reading communities should contain protected time for the sake of reading. Independent reading practices emphasize the process of making meaning through reading, not an end product. The school culture (teachers, administration, etc.) should affirm this daily practice time as inherently important instructional time for all readers. (NCTE, 2019) The Penguin Random House High
Translanguaging is a communicative practice of bilinguals and multilinguals, that is, it is a practice whereby bilinguals and multilinguals use their entire linguistic repertoire to communicate and make meaning (García, 2009; García, Ibarra Johnson, & Seltzer, 2017) It is through that lens that we have partnered with teacher educators and bilingual education experts, Drs.
“Books are a students’ passport to entering and actively participating in a global society with the empathy, compassion, and knowledge it takes to become the problem solvers the world needs.” –Laura Robb Research shows that reading and literacy directly impacts students’ academic success and personal growth. To help promote the importance of daily independent
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