Guilt, privilege, and questions I was afraid to ask.

Standard

almost open book

Last night fire swept through the streets

Climbed the walls,

The rugs racism has been swept under,

Heavy.  Burning.

I am white,

And I am guilty.

Of not being brave enough

To sit down with a black mother

Look her in the eye

And ask,

“What does it feel like?”

To be afraid for your babies

Your beautiful children, eyes full of love.

I am a coward,

Because I was afraid of the heaviness

Of letting that pain into my space.

My privilege is the freedom

To acknowledge oppression

Yet decide when I want to have the conversation.

Choosing whether to avoid the discomfort.

Choosing at all.

Maybe change begins

When suffering is so vast

It no longer fits inside human bodies.

When the ugly silence of fear

Is so loud, we can no longer deny it.

And when my heart aches as I look at you

Knowing that your truth…

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