Patricide by Dave Harris

Author:Dave Harris [Harris, Dave]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-943735-52-5
Publisher: Button Poetry
Published: 2019-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

SON

My train

I untuck my shirt before I get on the train.

Here the costume begins. It’s a 30-minute

ride from Haverford to 69th Street. I make

a mess of my uniform before boarding. I take

my tie off so I look less private school. I am

14. My shirt is 3 sizes too big. Mom bought

it so I had room to grow. The white shirt hangs

like a theater curtain. I pay my $2.75 and find

a seat big enough for me and my books. I study

so I don’t have to stay. To ride from suburb to city

is to watch green turn red. Trees become bricks become

my childhood home. I have no words for the other

passengers on the train. The lie: I can fit everywhere.

I study so I can stop wearing my mother’s shirts. I’m

my Blackest self when I am running. What was I before?

A boy? An escape rope? An abandoned car? What am I

without this costume? Naked? Skinless? Back there

I got an audience. A classroom. What’s here? An empty

fridge? A family? I can disrobe whiteness as easy as

I rock it. Make that suit work for me. I’m my Blackest self when

I’m my Blackest self in front of white people. They love

that shit so much they give me a scholarship.

A fellowship. A train ticket. It’s only a 30

minute ride. Vacation to safety. A home

means what, exactly? Each train stop, my body becomes more

rigid. Stiffen into the role. Corpse starched. Niggamortis.

What am I trying to be? A Black man? A mascot? White folk

say I’m so comfortable in my skin. Black folk

say I’m quiet. The truth: I did grow into the shirt. Marvelous

polyester. Bright-eyed pupil. Honeysuckle on a chain

link fence. White folk don’t know it’s a flower. Black folk

don’t need it to be.

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