Where does it hurt?
It may not bleed red and raw
but through that facile smile,
the narrow fear,
I see you.
I see the cost of comfort;
how the pain and privilege
live together in pretty paradox.
How you long to reclaim
your humanity in its fullness,
leaving the warm cocoon
to finally inhabit reality,
this country,
the one you were born to,
in all of its contradictions.

On this path to healing,
to wholeness
like a full moon rising,
there is no rushing.
For so much has been done
by us
to them, you,
to us, too,
that hides
in ignorance
and denial.
We have assigned White
to purity
and yet just beneath those gleaming sheets
is a mattress full of contradictions, of truth
about who we are.
Let's strip the bed.