I cannot know what it means to be Black

In America. Neither can I know

What it means to be a woman. See, back

In my youth I learned what it meant to go

Anonymous amid oppression. It’s

A simple thing to disappear when life

Presents barriers to those whose bits

Of DNA condemn them to the strife

Of standing out. My ease at who I am

Informs an entitlement that I bear

Uneasily. Naive, I smiling ran

Like a cretin, a rube, without the fear

About which others prayed. But now it’s plain…

A white man cannot understand their pain.

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