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Darkness appears throughout “Probably twilight makes blackness dangerous.” In lines 1 and 2, “blackness,” and “darkness” refer to the physical kinds of darkness, either the absence of light or the saturation of color. The speaker uses three different types of description to explore the connotations of the absence of light: "twilight" is a visual murk, "blackness" is a racial marker, while "darkness" carries a valence of fear, evil, and bad intentions associated with the dangerous unknown. The speaker wonders why the uncertainty of “twilight” would render “blackness dangerous / Darkness” (Lines 1-2) in the mind of a would-be assassin, suggesting that other kinds of darkness can avoid such a characterization.
The events in Sanford, Ferguson, and other places of racial violence remain clouded in euphemistic language: “something happened” (Lines 4-6). The danger heightens in present, as the unspeakable “happens / Almost everywhere” (Lines 7-8). “Someone is prey” (Line 9), but the speaker refuses to guess who will become prey in any specific interaction.
Images of darkness return in the “dark blue skin” (Lines 12, 13) passed down between father and son in the last lines of the poem. This time, when the first line of the poem repeats across lines 11 and 12, the speaker omits the adjective “dangerous” (Line 1) so that “darkness” (Line 12) becomes the chief descriptor for “blackness” (Line 11). Here, the metaphor displaces the physical meaning, which would be redundant. The speaker observes how the haze of twilight, the darkening of day, of sight, and of minds, makes blackness hard to comprehend. In uncertain terrain, observer biases emerge. The “gate” in line 12 opens both ways in the “encounters” (Lines 2 and 9) where “someone is prey” (Line 9).
The sonnet’s speaker uses the word “probably” in five of the poem’s 14 lines, leaving the reader unable to confirm or contradict his statements. The setting and subject of twilight provides a concrete image of a daily recurring in-between time, which mirrors the cycle of American society's unwillingness to solve the problem of racial hatred and violence. Throughout history, lukewarm supporters of civil rights measures warn that progress must be slow, euphemizing violent backlash as "something" that happens.
Hayes’ speaker uses the phrase “existential jambalaya” to represent his “encounters” (Lines 2-3), connecting his identity to this improvised stew made out of a mix of European and African traditions—something delicious that only could have existed within a forced, painful cultural context. Hayes loads this image with a central question in this volume: How much redemption can art born of violence and suffering bring?
Ten of the sonnet’s 14 lines use enjambment to carry over, surprise, or turn the reader’s expectations, making the end of each line itself a kind of middle space. The twilight that “makes blackness dangerous / Darkness” in lines 1 and 2 corresponds to the twilight that “makes blackness / Darkness” in lines 11 and 12, but in line 12, blackness also becomes “a gate.” The image suggests the possibility of moving from the uncertain middle space to a definite location, though it's unclear whether the gate is opening out or closing in.
Throughout the collection American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin, Hayes refers to cultural and historical figures, as well as to recognizable locations. In this poem, Hayes relies on his reader to know why the poem lists Sanford, Ferguson, Brooklyn, Charleston, and other American cities. In these locations, violent acts against Black Americans destroyed trust, threatened communities, and disrupted ideas about democracy and freedom. The list, coupled with the repetition of the euphemism “something happened” (Lines 4-7) invites the reader to demand that the “something” be identified, honoring the suffering and loss of the deceased, their families, and their communities, by describing the full horror of what happened.
Many protest signs in these cities read “Say His Name” or “Say Her Name.” In lines 10 and 11, the speaker addresses these missing names with the chilling: “The names alive are like the names / In graves.” Hayes's words echo Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, which metaphorized being Black in America as a ghost-like existence, a living death. In these lines, the only difference between the names of the living and the dead, is time and proximity to the coming assassin.
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