Grandpa Wore Blue, Grandma Wore Red

Grandpa Wore Blue, Grandma Wore Red

Grandpa wore blue suits for church on Sunday morning. Grandma wore red dresses, conservative with a tight fit. Her favorite.

His too, it looked good against her copper skin, tinted with the blood of gutter redbones, rumored bed-wenchers. He’d tell her he’d never wear red cause, he won’t as mulatto.

Grandpa wore blue, because of how it looked against his black skin tinted with the blood of West Africa—he’ll never know that home. Grandma refused to, she won’t as black.

To her Grandpa was occasionally black, mostly Negro, Mandigo, and Boo. He was negro when his sins followed— nicotine, diabetes, oil. Mandigo, when he kissed her helped her make those three babies. Boo, when she popped his blue collar, saying, “Get on.”

Grandma was Bitch, Betty Boop, and Babe. Bitch only when she’d cuss him out for not cleaning the dishes till they vinegar clear. Betty Boop, when her red dress slipped off revealing black bra, against her smooth skin, Babe, when he kissed her, straighten her red dress.

After 50 years of being together, Bitch, Betty Boop, and Babe went to church without him, for the first time, wore her red dress, made another calling out his say to say the last, “I love you.”

• Run Down, Jordan Matthews

Acrylic paint on canvas, 25 x 21 in., 2021