A poem a day for 2013 - day 322 - For Renisha McBride. For Me. For You.

If I am shot in the face in wee hours of the morning
My African and American brown freckled body dragged onto the table
Will the doctor cut me open and see that I failed geometry in the tenth grade
Will she lift my guts and know
I sexed a man in the back seat of a car
I never married the father of my son
Will I be a sinner
If she finds merlot, weed brownies and Trayvon stickers spilled down my blouse
Will I be a cunt who deserved to be put out of her misery
If the doctor runs my credit score and finds my rating poor
Will it justify my slit throat
My teeth gnashed and bloody jaws

Will the doctor see scars from my abortion
Know that I was bipolar
Overweight and wore a ring in my nose
What will she say about my penchant for cheese and bread in the middle of the night
Will she peruse my journals, my blogs and find bad punctuation
Words against the government
Will she look for Obama posters under my bed
Oscar Grant petitions on top of my bookcase
"This is for Assata" doodled in the margins
Will she turn her smug nose up to the writers on my wall
Baldwin, Morrison, Walker, Shange
Will she decide that the world has had enuf of women like me
With our fist balled up and hair all kinky

Will she know my dental work and c section were paid on the county's dime
How her brows will frown
Will movie tickets from 12 Years a Slave be stuffed down my throat
What will she think of me
In my Malcolm X shirt and fitted blue jeans
Will she imagine sweat and hate and fire drip down my nose
As Soloman is beat with a stick
Skin fall from his bones

What will she think of my mother, my father
Who taught me no better
Than to wide hip, thick lips
So black in the night