Saw you again
And your mom couldn’t look at me
Your eyes flicked for just a second.
When she stepped away
You struggled with your jiu-jitsu outfit
The belt, the gi
Didn’t cooperate in your little hands.
I asked, “Can I give you a hand?”
And you nodded a little, stealing a glance at me
Before looking away.
Normally I wouldn’t touch a white child
But you’re white in parental privilege only.
Nobody will think twice to see me
With a child who looks like she could be my own.
If your mom would look at me
If she would respond to my greeting
I would tell her
Where to get the right gi
What you should be wearing
That you need a new belt
And this is how you tie it.
But your mom looks away.
I gave her the benefit of the doubt
Two, three times more.
Now sometimes I think I hate her
For the way you look at me
Like a suspicious white child.