I wrote this for you
Milk and honey floating my back teeth.
From the aisles of my wrists.
The kettle sings a misery.
You reach past me,
for the pantry
And I melt into my stomach.
Smirking She asks what shade is that,
Adding the cream to her coffee
You ask her to stop
Over her shoulder she glances back
She doesn’t get the joke
She keeps going,
Pouring that is,
Until her cup is more cream than it is bitter.
I don’t know just the right shade of
pecan tan you can turn before:
You are too dark to be desirable;
The number of days you can spend in sun
Before you start telling your white friends that you can’t swim;
You know your privilege
The power of your pigment.
The fascination is with #TeamLightskinned
just don’t have the right ring to it.
When your mother’s passing privilege
Earned you more playground & bus stop 3 o’clocks
Than you’d like to remember.
But you can fight though…and you will so…
Don’t try the pretty lightskinned long hair one
They’ll say at 13
Cuz X thru 12 you proved yourself a beast
Your shoulder is 100 lashes.
Your back, always a siren hallway in Versailles.
My feet sigh into your floor.
— Is this what it takes?
Even my sweat has turned sweetner.
Black coffee under your breath
You chastise me for my vaguenes.
— Stop being so damn obtuse, just say it.
A line of salt between our feet.
I choke back
The doing stirs the syrup in my guts.
Swells the sugar in my throat.
— I’ll have to leave for cigarettes soon…