I’m going to be nice about this. Fuck

you.

Dear white people tanning
your skin. Hammering a Habitat for Humanity nail.
Flipping a dollar menu burger. Shooting
a twelve-year-old. Carving a razor
down your wrist.

I’m having a tea party.
I’m wearing a black velvet dress.
This is the skin of an animal.
I am sipping earl grey. I am cutting a scone
in half, the crumbles drop onto the porcelain
plate, I am spreading churned milk and raspberry jam.
I am lifting the whole thing
to my mouth.

Did I say fuck you yet?
Do you want ten steps to easy penitence?

I’m not saying sorry.
I’m chewing and then I’m farting.
Please don’t think I’m racist.
Power speaks in a soft
voice. We don’t do
body counts.

Dear white people,
I’m done with you.
Dear white people, I’ve hated
myself for such a long time.
Dear white people,
you’re going

to have to choose.

(by Becca Shaw Glaser. Originally published in Columbia Journal, November 2016.)