Not Easily Explained

words by me
 
I once had a discussion with a friend

whom I admire and respect 

during which I asserted "I am Black."

Our conversation stuttered
she uttered, incredulous, "What?"

and I, suddenly less sure, said

"My grandfather is African American, and so am I"

only for her to scoff out "That's only a quarter, that doesn't count"

How dare you

I didn't say

Yes I am

I didn't say

Who are you to decide

I didn't say

my words turned to molten metal in my mouth, sliding down my throat and burning out the bottom of my stomach, radiating red liquid heat into my skin

and then 

like a hot iron plunged into cold water 

I knew

She didn't see me.

I once described my experience of my life as liminal

as occupying the space between spaces

my racial identity is quicksilver 

mercurial at best

changing with the angle and the hour and intensity of light

White girl in Brooklyn

Weird girl in Long Island

Black girl in the lines of my palms

the shiver in my bones

in all the places hidden by my skin

Black girl

Invisible.

I didn't understand why I was so upset

at first,

with my friend,

who didn't see me.

I didn't have the language or experience to frame what I felt.

That came later, with time and reflection 

a degree of self awareness that pierces
like daylight through darkness

that curls around your heart and your lungs and your mind

that cuts to the core of what you think you are

I was upset because

If we met on the street and had a conversation about the weather and the traffic

and I mentioned the Black Lives Matter protest happening that day

"I'm all for racial equality" you might say, "But-

-Do they have to be so disruptive?"

you might say

-What's the problem with all lives matter?"

you might say

-I'm sick of the racism police"

you might say

-Just between us White people"

you will say  

with your wry half-smile and the conspiratorial tilt of your head

and I might say

Nothing

and you would never know that my skin 

is a lie

that my hair

is a lie

that my eyes and my voice and my clothes 

are lies that allow me to pass 

Unseen

I was upset because my race is 

Complicated

because my identity is 

Other

because the validity of my identity

can be challenged

can be picked up and put down at will

can be ignored

discarded

disregarded

divorced 

because the ongoing oppression of my people

is not my lived experience

and my position is not ally

is not oppressed

is not easily explained

is not easily lived 

but I do.

Every day

I swallow down the guilt of being

too White

I swallow down the guilt of not being

Black 

Enough

I swallow down the heat in my throat 

and my eyes do not water at the pain

Every day

I stare into the darkness

I stare into the daylight

I stare into the mirror

I ask

Do you see me?

Poetry Break

And now, a brief change of content.

Old Familiar Feeling

I feel it growl behind me, quiet

rising up within to surround

Strike

sinks its fangs into my ankle

Pinned

to the ground

Animal in a trap

that is living and breathing and drawing blood

bigger and faster and older and stronger

Still

breath out slow, steady

wait inhale wait exhale wait

I feel it grow inside me, silent

drawing up before me to

Lift

the updraft pushes, purposeful

I loose my leg from my trap

Refusing

to be captive

to myself

And now, we return you to your regularly scheduled format.

I'm just gonna give it away right now; the noodling above is about fear, and not falling prey to my old patterns of doubt and panic. I had a creative surge, and I thought, Hey! Why not post it to the interwebs for all the world to see? Or, at least the 5 people who stumble across it.

Let me know what you think. I'm off to write a cover letter.

Isha

Thought of the day: References? You mean I was supposed to stay in touch with those people I worked for?