130 Readings | 0 Ratings

If I’m White

I am a dream-puffed cloud

hogging the view

from above

an eggshell cracked too easily

a cony

soft and plump.

I am a cushy mattress

a naked hanger, a sterile cotton swab.

A sugar cube stacked

with all the other sugar cubes

a mail truck

    delivering more bad news

a Chicago snowstorm

burying

you.

I am a golf ball

a hotel bathrobe

whipped cream on a macchiato

a chalk arrow on the sidewalk

thick and pointing

at La Raza Nation

wetbacks and

feral cats.

I am sclera swallowing pupil

bone, stiff beneath flesh

formula replacing milk

from your mother’s

sagging
   
      breast

exposed epidermis, alien to dirt

a blister welting

on the heel of
 
every
   
     olive
   
foot.

I am just a cauliflower head

tucked in a fridge, wondering

what happened to my roots
 
      the warm air

    earth and the ripe

smell of sweat.
Posted 08/27/13
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