Endowed in perpetuity by the Glenna Luschei Fund for Excellence

Dear Black Barbie

Candace G. Wiley

I made you fuck my white Barbie

even though I knew you didn’t want to.

There were no whips or chains,
this was a different kind of plantation fantasy.

I didn’t have a Ken doll, so I made you the man.

Not knowing what fucking looked like

I just rubbed you against each other and made you kiss.

I kept you barefoot like you came

three worlds later or fifty years earlier,

but I had Nicki Minaj dreams for us:

bleached brown skin, long stringy yellow hair,

God-blue eyes, lips pink as a Cadillac. Only then

could you wear the best dress and the one pair of pumps.

My dear black Barbie, maybe you needed a grandma
to tell you things are better than they used to be.
There was a time when you didn’t exist at all.