I am hypervigilant.
Tuned in, turned on,
cataloging every tremor
in this country, this world —
always have been.
(It’s the autism.)
People come to me
for commentary.
For the read.
For the temperature of the room.
And still —
I don’t get it.
But I’ve finally figured out
what
I don’t get.
What I’ve been
missing.
A neurotypical brain.
Because I cannot understand racism.
Cannot fathom it.
It doesn’t click.
It doesn’t load.
It just —
doesn’t.
And automatic hierarchy?
Why should I respect you
because you were born above me?
And who decided above?
You could be sideways to me.
You could be upside down.
We haven’t even
figured out our own brains.
We’ve barely dented the moon.
And you want to tell me
there’s a divine plan?
That you’ve been anointed?
We don’t have the same gods.
We are not running
the same rules.
So I’ll carry on.
I just won’t pretend
I understand.
How do you compartmentalize
children — on planes, on islands.
How is a genocide
a line item.
How do you look at an embargo
and see an opportunity
to build the next little St. James?
How are you not
on fire
right now?
I know what I’m missing.
I know what separates me
from understanding this.
And I’ve never been more grateful
for the gap.
— end —
ARE WE ON FIRE YET 