Sammy Sosa, or I know they didn't mean it, or no one ever means it

11/18/09

I mean, of course, there is no breaking point
without cracks

when I was ten I had never been called
a nigger in my life;

when world opened it's mouth
it didn't have to say that word,
a word,
it breathed it
like a gas

that would seep into my eyes and ears
wisping projections
of skateboards and spiked hair
rock n roll and flame shirts

five years later
I sat on a couch
as the n to the r
slithered out of the pale mouth

of the boy who owned it
again and again
like he was regurgitating medusa

his eyes cool
his mouth set like a pitbull in a hammock

I sat
stone and sad
like he was regurgitating medusa

and suddenly I didn't really want to finish the game of halo

and I saw my mom looking at me
and I saw my grandma
and I saw my brother Paul
who in between "faggots"
would remind that "them honkeys
don't care about [me]"

there was a door behind me
and a door in front of me

figuratively

the door behind was maybe also literal
as in, I say "Fuck You." throw the controller
throw open his front screen
get on my bike and ride away
from the white burn of beverly

but what I wanted to prove
was something different than what was inherent
in that scenario

the door in front of me, the silent one, was a----'s beautiful self
was the big hugs she would give to me
that the other black boys in my class didn't get

because I wore polos not fubu
because I knew who coheed was
because I commented her xanga
because even when the aeropostale
hoodies got a little bit too triangular
I could be counted on to shut the fuck up
and laaaaugh or joooooke


like when later that summer
her fourteen year old lips slurred
"manny, I love you! you...you are a super nigger."

which is close enough of a relative to
the "coolest black person I know" title
that if they fucked the child would have three eyes

"ohh, haha, thanks aubrey. could you give the phone back to josi?"

the next day,
when my parents happened upon her AIM apology
I can't remember anything they said
in the subseqent talk they gave me

so used to immediately, completely
rendering every word blank as pavement
as they charged toward me

I leveled each and every "you need to re-assess your social life",
threw them over my head
with the force of a hopeful, stupid boy ram

and continued pin cushion.

on St Patrick's Day
I rose to shake JJ's dad's hand
he let out a chuckle like a shotgun blast
something like
"UH-OH, HIDE YOUR STUFF
MAKE SURE HE DIDNT STEAL ANYTHING"

My eyes didn't hit the ground fast enough
for me to not see his grin
his "do something, motherfucker."

so I did.
I laughed.
his hand choked mine.

when meghan's neighbor
questioned me as I left out the back door,
tone five steps away from calling the police.

every gun joke
every ape joke
every rape joke

when m--- k---- called me a stupid fucking nigger
because my digital character
shot digital bullets into
his digital character
I shut the fuck up.


Sammy Sosa would rather be a ghost than a shadow.


What we will do to feel loved.

all of us

like one day,
i'll just unhinge my jaws
and locusts will swarm from the cavity.
an infernal buzz
of all the doubt and fires you didn't know about:
the black fingers behind clipped sentences
or ones that ran onto too long-
babbling brooks of subconsciousness
trying to hide behind their own tails.