confessions of a lost white South African

July 4, 2009 at 8:07 pm Leave a comment

dark-skinned death

like a load

finger pointing

telling me to hide my face white

like bread and colonization

here’s to wishing

the world was colorblind

and skin was

what you ate off chicken

but it’s not

my fault

my mouth wide open

not my fault

the war they’re fighting

white against black

ink flowing from wounds

not able to

find my name just accusations

and wounds bleeding black

all over me

and I’m sorry what happened

sorry what’s happening

(I) wasn’t there

and if I was

I was too young

don’t want to be

part of the Apartheid system

or Robben island robbing lives

for nothing

here

in a mist of white memory

blinded by the light of my skin

I’m in a new land, see,

full of multiculturalism

and hidden blood

and it’s not my fault,

the blood at Batoche

red rivers of red hate

Ponteac, Tecumseh and Big Bear

my steps filled with forgetting

filled with not fitting

not wanting to feel

that dark history

under my skin.

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Entry filed under: Poetry.

bruised by the rain résumé

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