Annesu de Vos

When you see pallor

“when you see pallor, you see privilege.”
this was written
on my birth certificate when I was pink
but my heart is black, black, black
as the powder in the laser
printer cartridge I shake
over the kitchen sink

you see pallor, you see privilege
in writing. this is proof of time
and time is money, money is
pallor. it sticks to me
even when I have none
but my heart is black, black, black
as the alabaster sunshine on
stony Egypt.

you see, you see
they gave us money for our studies
when we were pink
but my heart is black, black, black
as the hunger in the black underbelly
short of war.

you see it you see it all
in the pallor of the pink
morning it is clear,
translucent as the shiny starvation
in the black underdogbelly, long-term
hunger hunger hunger
nothing nothing to eat at all
nothing but nothing to eat
but my heart is black as caviar.

I afford my black heart
like a luxury car: when you see pallor
you see. nothing can take
the colour of privilege
nothing can take
the money off me
and my heart is black, black, black
as the leather on the back
of a queen street trendy.

when you see pallor
you see the sun. a black woman
said this to me:
“white people are aliens
not of this place
roaming the planet for fun and for free”
but my heart is black, black, black
as the tunnel in the barrel
of a freedom fighter’s gun.

when you see pallor
you see a star
you see your ancestors
driving their space car
but my heart is black, black, black
as the endless residence of
One in Existence.

when you see pallor,
you will see sand.
I still see ancient disputes over land
where I spilled my
sweat and my tears and my blood
was ordered to disband
where I raised my
fist, and finally cried:
ALL POWER
TO THE PEOPLE IN MY HAND

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