When You Thought Me Poor

When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home. When by the miracle of fierce dreaming and hard work Life fulfilled our every want you found me crassly well off; not trimly, inconspicuously wealthy like your rich friends. Still black too, now I owned too much and too many of everything. Woe is me: I became a success! Blackness, who knows how? Became suddenly in! What to do? Now that Fate appears (for the moment anyhow) to have dismissed abject failure in any case? Now that moonlight and night have blessed me. Now that the sun unaffected by criticism of any sort, implacably beams the kiss filled magic that creates the dark and radiant wonder of my face.