And there it is again–
silky voice of children’s lullabies
she wields in meetings of wits
A New England beauty
replete with the grace and poise
white privilege breeds
Her blade of honeyed words
slices so sharp
I don’t see the blood
gushing
from my neck
I can’t keep up
Truth in fragments
rearranged like mosaic tiles–
a mouse becomes an elephant
as she purrs
One slight after another
10,000 paper cuts
Breathe.
On the stage of requiem
here we are:
the damsel in distress
meets the wicked witch.
What you didn’t count on
is that brown-girl magic
that heavy potion
brewed in the cauldron of history
that’s one-part saving an electorate from a pedophile
another part 63 cents for a white man’s dollar
a-third Mammy
topped off with rape.
So really, what arrows
have you left to sling?
Call me angry if you want
but anger is too simple
too trivial
for this frothing
this bubbling over
Come, let me serve you.
Christine Taylor, a multiracial English teacher and librarian, resides in her hometown Plainfield, New Jersey. She serves as a reader and contributing editor at OPEN: Journal of Arts & Letters. Her work appears in Modern Haiku, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Room, and The Rumpus among others. She can be found at www.christinetayloronline.com
