White Hands Shake

I wish I could write the 1000 words that a picture fails to describe
I wish I could leave the space between my ears
I wish I could sit on the hill,
under the cork tree,
smelling flowers with Ferdinand
I wish those days could come back once more
I wish I was taller. I wish I was a baller.
I wish I was riding Rocinante
I wish I could hear Horton’s Who

I wish the real that I keep it wasn’t my supremacy
I wish I wasn’t racist
I wish I wasn’t whiteness
I wish I knew what to do
Outstretched hand, trepidating
Metaphor for all of it
I wish inclusion wasn’t transitive
Demanding an object
White grammar

I wish I was included
I want to belong
I don’t want to be woke
But I love Bar-B-Que
I don’t want whiteness
But I want to keep what I have
Sometimes I’m fragile
Sometimes I’m guilty
When I cry, my tears are white like me
Often I’m awkward, aspirational, white hands shaking