Klan Giant

By TOMMYE BLOUNT

 

“Made of Duretta cloth and sateen, embroidered in silk.
Cotton cord and tassels. Price, each $6.00″
—from Catalogue of Official Robes and Banners, Knights of the Ku Klux Klan

Look up here, the air is Aryan. The moon, 
our white hood. Our life must loom large 
above that which is darkened in our shadow.
A fate loomed long ago, ours

in the weft and warp of hems,
a lowered white curtain on this 
re-coonstructed show called Pursuit
of their Happiness. The fall of our robe’s drape 

is their downfall, so we must be the season, winter 
them with our long reach. This long white 
train, an invisible locomotive to an indivisible
empire—underground, a railroad housed 

in the myth of Equality. Let’s go down to the river 
and post above the water’s edge;
loot the coins from their bodies, set them loose
down that river; its big mouth gurgling underfoot.

 

 

Tommye Blount is the author of the chapbook What Are We Not For and the debut full-length collection Fantasia for the Man in Blue. Born and raised in Detroit, Tommye now lives in Novi, Michigan.

[Purchase Issue 24 here.] 

Klan Giant

Related Posts

Gray Davidson Carroll's headshot next to the cover of The Common Issue 28.

Podcast: Gray Davidson Carroll on “Silent Spring”

GRAY DAVIDSON CARROLL
Poet Gray Davidson Carroll speaks to managing editor Emily Everett about their poem “Silent Spring,” which appears in The Common’s fall issue. Gray talks about poetry as a way to witness and observe the world and how we experience it, and how it’s changing.

February 2025 Poetry Feature: New Poems by Our Contributors

MARC VINCENZ
Oh, you genius, you beehive, / you spark, you contiguous line— / all from the same place of origin // where there is no breeze. // All those questions posed … / take no notice, the image / is stamped on your brow, even // as you glare in the mirror, // as the others are orbiting

Excerpt from The Math of Saint Felix

DIANE EXAVIER
I turn thirty-two / the sky is mostly cloudy / over my apartment / facing Nostrand // and all my parents are dead // I am rolling my hips / toward death in a dying / city on a planet dying / just a touch slower than me // and one sister jokes we only need thirty more years