Carefully, i arrange my disguise. It has been designed not to stand out … i decide to look like a poor Black woman.
—ASSATA SHAKUR
i’m good with my tongue.
it makes me most visible.
with a shut mouth I’m a good dresser.
a flapping tongue makes me:
sexy
well learned
a conquest
my voice is more pronounced than my skin tone
and i need to know why
i track down my ancestry through DNA
i track down someone with my last name
she tell me it’s hers
she white
says it’s funny how I’m black
i say, “ha-ha”
results say i’m hers
in history
in old law
in old English
say her great greats
owned my greatest
on this soil.
“wow,” she say
and i hold my tongue. tight. between molars.
’til it bloody and useless
’til i can’t speak
’til she don’t see me
and swallow back the blood i ain’t ask for in the first place