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Each time, Kenny says
With Love,
I look at you, I see
Princess Diana
His skin ginger,
mine, peony,
And, between us now,
The color line,
No static beam
—More like
Light-bomb;
Blanching
The star-
Dark,
Our lumen-
Natural
Copyright © 2014 by Ailish Hopper. Reprinted from Split This Rock’s The Quarry: A Social Justice Poetry Database.
Tension makes
a form resound
and so the many lines I am told
not to cross
Do not go out alone at night
Do not call attention to yourself
Closer to the color line
the more I am
White girl
fool
It is a while before
the other girls
correct me, gently. Good timbre needs
more air
Shout out!
Muscles flex, quick-shift
I stomp, impious
impervious, now
Do not dance suggestively
Hold a stranger’s eyes
After Martin Luther King, Jr. and P-Funk
I want you to follow me through here
So wide
They said don’t come there
You can’t get around it
But I am here
So high
They said there is no here
You can’t get over it
But I have been there
So low
There,
There,
You can’t get under it