A Poem For My Cousin Daniel
You’ll be nine tomorrow
don’t let anyone call you a mulatto
you’re horse on both sides
You identify as tan
After all it is the only logical
descriptive word
for your skin’s hue
but the world doesn’t adhere to reason
Daniel
your skin tanned
unlike your Mother’s walnut brown
or your Father’s peach White
eyes hazel brown
unlike your Father’s blue
or your Mother’s dark brown
hair which curly
unlike your Mother’s kinky Haitian hair
or your Father’s straight German hair
you’re a human
like your White Father
and Black Mother
you’re a Christian
like your pastor Father
and podiatrist Mother
You call yourself tan
and the term fits
wonderfully
the perfect diction
for your novel of flesh
but I often weep imagining the day
when they’ll make you call yourself
Black
and you’ll begin to feel fear
eyeing the dead faces that
stretch centuries
Christian Taylor
Emmett Till
Medgar Evers
and those unfortunate souls at the
Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church
your innocent brown eyes
Will grow deep for revenge
your voice which speaks of Iron Man and Hulk
will grow raspy with rage and anguish
Chanting Black Lives Matter
To a deaf and mute world
only then will you understand
why i’m angry at God
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