BLEED

Robyn Reeves Jones ~ 2019

you wrap your colonialism around you
like a comfy white blanket
keep the status quo
you wear your privilege well.

it’s not that bad
at least that’s what you say
while your tongue swells
and you choke on your hard hard words.

racism isn’t a thing anymore
while you close your eyes to injustice
as a little girl scrubs and scrubs her skin
“Get off brown!”I don’t want to be Indian anymore”

and her classmates laugh
and call her squaw …….Pokahontus.
and her tears bleed into sacred grounds
you live on. It cries with her.. why can’t you?

the past isn’t my fault..
It was my ancestors! They did it.
why can’t you get over it?
why can’t you forget?

tell that to the indigenous woman
who went in to have a baby
and came out sterile
her choices stolen like her land

it was just a joke….i’m not a racist.
as your words crawl like poisonous spiders
into the soul of a co-worker
you thought reflected white

you wear your white fragility well.
like a suit of impenetrable armor
I would like to say it looks good…. But…
my words are stuck like daggers in my raw throat.

can’t we all just get along?
we all bleed red. You’re right.
we do bleed
words cut deep.

after all, you’re not responsible.
as they throw their words carefully before them
so you don’t cut your soft soft feet
on the sharp edges of their words.

Close your eyes. It’s not your fault.
Open your eyes. We’re ALL at fault.