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Tag Archives: rest timing

On the Subway

 

               The boy and I face each other. 
               His feet are huge, in black sneakers 
               laced with white in a complex pattern like a 
               a set of intentional scars. We are stuck on 
               opposite sides of the car, a couple of 
               molecules stuck in a rod of light 
               rapidly moving through darkness. He has the 
               casual cold look of a mugger, 
               alert under hooded lids. He is wearing 
               red, like the inside of the body 
               exposed. I am wearing dark fur, the 
               whole skin of an animal taken and 
               used. I look at his raw face, 
               he looks at my fur coat, and I didn't 
               know if I am in his power- 
               he could take my coat so easily, my 
               briefcase, my life- 
               of if he is in my power, the way I am 
               living off his life, eating the steak 
               he does not eat, as if I am taking 
               the food from his mouth. And he is black 
               and I am white, and without meaning or 
               trying to I must profit from his darkness, 
               the way he absorbs the murderous beams of the 
               nation's heart, as black cotton 
               absorbs the heat of the sun and holds it. There is 
               no way to know how easy this 
               white skin makes my life, this 
               life he could take so easily and 
               break across his knee like a stick the way 
               his own back is being broken, the 
               rob of his soul that at birth was dark and 
               fluid and rich as the heart of a seedling 
               ready to thrust up into any available light.