POETRY
An Open Letter to an Anonymous White Man on Twitter
Going hard in the paint
You hide behind liberal-labeled anonymity
Where you criticize with impunity
A grown man, a “grown-ass man,” as we say in the South
Attacking a college sophomore.
I know you’re grown because you have a son, in a drumline
Not too many years younger than that girl
She’s barely out of her teens
She helped her team toward a national championship, being taunted and trash-talked
And yes, I know it’s part of the game
Until it isn’t
She kept her cool
Until she didn’t
You say the difference is that the white girl made the dismissive gesture in the heat of competition
But the black girl, who is younger, did it to competitors her team had beaten
So you say it’s okay for the white girl, but not for the black girl
But you don’t know
You can’t know
Well, you could know
But maybe you don’t want to know
The black girl no doubt already knows that life in the USA is not fair.
Any gesture in the heat of the game could have given a bigoted referee the reason to toss her out of the game.
Any foul, any touch, anything could be used as an excuse.
So, like that young black wrestler whose locs were chopped off in public,
She kept her cool
Until the win was secure
Until any misstep wouldn’t damage her team
She was more mature than you.
I know you see yourself as an ally with your “tell me something good” each Friday
And it’s clear you’re a loving father,
But you don’t know
You can’t know
Well, you could know
But maybe you don’t want to know what we go through, live with, pass by, detour around, leap over
It’s a never-ending maze planted with emotion-septic IEDs
And it doesn’t help when people like you pretend the maze isn’t there now,
And was never there at all.
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