After Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib
Maybe I come from the gap
between my father’s teeth.
Maybe I was meant to see a little
bit of darkness every time he smiled.
Maybe I was meant to understand that
darkness magnifies the sight of joy.
Maybe I come from where the sidewalk
ends, or maybe I just read that in a book once.
It can be hard to tell the difference sometimes.
Maybe that’s because when I was a kid
a white boy told me I was marginalized
and all I could think of was the edge
of a sheet of paper, how empty it is—
the abyss I was told never to write into.
Maybe I’m scared of writing another poem
that makes people roll their eyes
and say, “another black poem.”
Maybe I’m scared people won’t think
of the poem as a poem, but as a cry for help.
Maybe the poem is a cry for help.
Maybe I come from a place where people
are always afraid of dying.
Maybe that’s just what I tell myself
so I don’t feel so alone in this body.
Maybe there’s a place where everyone is both
in love with and running from their own skin.
Maybe that place is here.
Maybe that’s why I’m always running from
the things that love me. Maybe I’m trying
to save them the time of burying darkness
when all they have to do is close their eyes.