©2017
Pantoum for Americans, quiet and otherwise
Inspired by the last line of Graham Greene’s 1955 novel The Quiet American: “...how I wished there existed someone to whom I could say that I was sorry.”
I woke up and reflected on a childhood of privilege —
how I wished there existed someone to whom I could say that I was sorry,
to apologize for willful hiding under the warm covers of white supremacy.
The blanket is so heavy, but I am cold.
How I wished there existed someone to whom I could say that I was sorry,
as if I could make it better just with pretty words.
The blanket is so heavy, but I am cold,
and it is everyone’s blanket. It just doesn’t keep everybody warm.
As if I could make it better just with pretty words
(even the form of this poem a form of taking the parts we liked).
It is everyone’s blanket. It just doesn’t keep everybody warm.
There are other tools for warmth, and I could learn them.
Even the form of this poem a form of taking the parts we liked
to apologize for willful hiding under the warm covers of white supremacy.
There are other tools for warmth, and I can honor them.
I woke up and reflected on a childhood of privilege.