Today's poem is by Esther Ra

self-portrait as a child in america
       

you wash your hands slowly, in daydream and water.
lost in the clouds ((of soapfoam)). *pop* The class waits
in a line behind you, as you liquid       again & again.
as if       to peel off your own skin.       as if       absolution
can wait.       you still       see time       as endless.

*pop* you barely exist.       look around, Esther. you're here
& you don't       have a clue. but       the miracles. like the berries
you picked from the chain-link fence [a steel necklace around
your school's throat]. they were bright. & hard. & ruby
as blood. you peeled off their skin       to eat:

it was so easy then to be friends with white children       as well as with
[people of color].       did you know       you were person of color? because
by white       you meant clouds, by brown       you meant earth
by yellow       sugared lemon       & sun

your favorite teacher was a white man who laughed       like the sun
in simplicity, splendor. he said, Esther, you'd keep reading
if a bomb dropped beside you. &       you carried those words
all your life. you said, yes I would. *pop* I would try.       you say,
if a bomb dropped beside me, I would pick up the wreckage,
reread it against endless time,

bombs as soap bubbles, red meaning eat. clean water
as hope       & right here.

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Copyright © 2023 Esther Ra All rights reserved
from A Glossary of Light & Shadow
Diode Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission