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This first section of the anthology closes with the ways gender, race, and poetry sidle next to each other in Camille T. Dungy’s introspective essay.
I’m included here, a woman with a guest pass to this all men’s club, because I can be trusted, because everyone who knows even a little about me knows there is at least one black man I believe can do no wrong. And isn’t that one of the things we have to think about when we think about constructions of black American masculinity? Mustn't we think about the fact that, facing the culturally-imbedded quagmires that black men in America must daily face, each one must need at least one person who believes he can do no (or at the most very little) wrong?