"purple"

“i don’t care if you’re Black, white, green, or purple.”
—ancient white proverb

i find it strange how these beings came to my planet
expecting to find themselves. as if the only thing i could
have been was a mirror. these bags of veins and alabaster
roughness, they sun don’t even respect them. they won’t
look me in my eye. won’t shake my vines. won’t learn
what’s customary here. they expect i should know what
was never taught to me. they keep trying to convince me
they don’t care what i look like. but i hear them, hear
them tell their friends i am lavender instead of raisin.
praise the lilac and periwinkle children they forced into
me. i see it, the slow erasure of my fig, my mulberry. i hear
them say plum plague, plum magic, plum list, plum mail
and i know that is not an accident. they offer me bleach
and name it peace. they teach my children to hate me in a
tongue i don’t know. they tell me to never look back while
calling their history law. separate our families and call it a
statistic.

i miss watching the wild of my children spread without
fear. i miss the monuments dedicated to my darkness. i
miss facing my sun and saying good morning.

“purple” appears in Black Queer Hoe out now from Haymarket Books