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1. 1 2016-08-08T16:31:26-07:00 Jazmin 2ccdcf90af4ab5fdaa8e71351111ca2dc9435e12 Day 21: Anita Coleman Jazmin 4 plain 2016-08-13T17:51:20-07:00 Jazmin 2ccdcf90af4ab5fdaa8e71351111ca2dc9435e12

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• 1 2016-08-08T16:31:26-07:00 Day 21: Anita Coleman 4 plain 2016-08-13T17:51:20-07:00 Anita Scott Coleman was born in Guaymas, Mexico in 1890. Coleman’s father was a Buffalo Soldier who moved to Mexico in retirement. After Coleman was born, the family relocated to New Mexico. Coleman was trained as a teacher at New Mexico Teachers College though left teaching to start writing in 1916. She wrote stories, essays, and poems that were published in magazines such as The Crisis, The Messenger, Opportunity: Journal of Negro Life, and The Half-Century Magazine. Her poetry was included in the anthologies Negro Voices (1938) and Ebony Rhythm (1948) as well as a book of her own volumes titled Small Wisdom (1937) and Reason for Singing (1938). Coleman, her husband, and their four children moved to Los Angeles, California in 1926 where they ran a boarding house.

  Much of Coleman's work emphasized life in the southwest as well as the experiences of soldiers. Being both the child and mother of veterans, she celebrated their work and criticized the hardships that black veterans faced. She also wrote about marriage, motherhood, and loss. Her essays and stories have won prizes in both The Crisis and Opportunity.

  The baby I hold in my arms is a black baby.
  Today I set him in the sun and
  Sunbeams danced on his head.
  The baby I hold in my arms is a black baby.
  I toil, and I cannot always cuddle him.
  I place him on the ground at my feet.
  He presses the warm earth with his hands,
  He lifts the sand and laughs to see
  It flow through his chubby fingers.
  I watch to discern which are his hands,
  Which is the sand...
  Lo...the rich loam is black like his hands.
  The baby I hold in my arms is a black baby.
  Today the coal-man brought me coal.
  sixteen dollars a ton is the price I pay for coal.--
  Costly fuel...though they say:
  --If it is buried deep enough and lies hidden long enough
  'Twill be no longer coal but diamonds...
  My black baby looks at me.
  His eyes are like coals,
  They shine like diamonds.

  from "Black Baby," 1929.