Poetry & Experimental Prose
I took my danger and laid it
by the river’s edge.
I watched my danger dip down dirt,
and slide through sand,
Into the rushing waters.
“You’re not white. You’re pink.”
A Sudanese refugee squeezes my wrist, flips it over, inspects my protruding, green veins and tosses my forearm back to me.
“Why do they call you whites?”