White Enough
Through broken cries, we extend our tired arms to the tap,
Dirty, filthy palms,
As per request, we wipe them clean,
And wash again,
As if perhaps, by some chance,
It will make us white enough,
Clean of the heritage that paints the faces we once loved,
But as they tear apart the family tree,
Masked men on the streets,
We wish to know only peace,
A life we dreamed,
Screaming to be clean,
And the water runs over our hands,
Dirty, filthy palms,
As if rubbing them raw will remove the extra melanin,
Because we are not white enough,
Never white enough,
Not to be safe from being profiled on the way home from work,
Or school,
Or preschool,
Or daycare,
Where men who play God stop us and ask,
Where are you from,
What is your name,
Can’t you wash that off of your hands,
But sir,
This is my skin,
My body,
My sin,
And it no use to try to reason,
Because he is throwing us into an unmarked SUV,
Where I can do nothing but scream,
Scream and beg,
Beg to be seen,
Beg to be free,
But there is no such thing as freedom,
Or justice,
Or equality,
So God help me, if I don’t keep on scrubbing,
Cleaning my,
Dirty, filthy ing hands,
Because there is a chance,
That maybe it’ll make me white enough,
At least to walk past him on the street without so much as a passing glance,
And I’ll die on that hill,
Because this is all I have,
So I’ll clean them good,
I’ll clean them real good,
With bleach, and steel wool wires,
And I’ll try,
And try,
And try,
Ser lo suficientemente blanca,
To finally,
Finally,
Be white enough.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment