2 new poems by Naomi Borkent
All Mothers Were Summoned When George Floyd Called Out For His
A black man lays cuffed on the ground
A white man’s knee crushing his neck.
He calls out for his Mother.
His dying breaths, to plead for his Momma.
To plead for air, for breath.
Mine catches in my chest.
I want to turn away, I don’t want to see.
I don’t want to see the fruit of generations of hatred, systemic discrimination and abuse.
I want to say: “I don’t see colour!” But I do.
I see you, I see you, I see you. I do not understand your pain. I cannot. But I understand my privilege.
Skin That Looks Like Mine
Skin that looks like mine, you see in magazines.
Skin that’s white.
Pale, translucent and milky.
Skin that says: “Eurocentric Beauty”
Says: “Sorry, Officer. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
But skin that looks like his
Skin that looks like hers…
Chocolate, latte, cinnamon
Kissed by the sun, made of Earth
Says: “Where are you really from?”
Says: “You don’t belong.”
One whose tongue remembers the language of their great-grandmothers…but speaks English instead.
I can’t pretend to understand your pain. Your righteous anger. But I stand with you.
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