Ways of Survival

A White woman I’d never seen accused me
Of stealing her son’s wallet
While it was in his hand.
I laughed it off with the simple confidence
Of having habitually survived trauma.
But that night I had a dream
That my lightest-skinned cousin,
the one who used to deny he is Mexican,
Was stabbing me in my gut with a knife.
I bled white blood like guilt.
My body was a colorless flag
Too thin to do anything but surrender.
 
The man I am in love with is White.
He once asked me if I was “into”
White men. I told him that
Since coming to Middle America,
I don’t consider desire when I look at White people.
Instead, I worry in which ways I won’t be treated as human.
He was surprised I should worry
about such a thing.
We share dreams - not anxieties -
Laughed and moved on.

When I met my boyfriend’s family,
I was the only non-White person at the table.
That night I dreamt of tattooing my father’s face onto my own.
I wanted to wear his dark skin, his bad teeth,
his lack of education, his tiny paychecks, his bravery
Like rosary beads made of black opal around my neck.
I laughed with the women at the table as they talked
About ski trips while I pictured my father trekking across
A desert into America. He had been my age.

Yesterday, I told an advisor that I want to teach.
She told me to consider that women of color
At primarily white institutions either drop out
Or develop PTSD.
She is afraid that my education will kill me.
I told her that every diploma is a bouquet
Of flowers I can finally afford for my mother.
I hand them to her through a memory,
On that day we hid and cried inside our car
Because a White woman had accused her of theft
Before we had learned how laughter is crucial  for survival.