by Wayne Benson Jr.
I didn't ask for this—history
wrapped around my body like a hand-
me-down coat. I didn't ask for all
my notes to sound like Miles Davis
on an old broken vinyl, or the pressure of being
a young king in an old story about democracy.
Skin, I don’t ask of you sex appeal
I don’t ask of you the silent thrill
of walking through an affluent
neighborhood with an empty coffee cup
but I do ask for a place to lay my head
a place to place these dark dark
thoughts, to temper the shame
from my black brother, same skin
as mine, who sides his eye when he finds
even if outlined in chalk, our lines
would not reach the same shores.
My mother’s land is Newark, New Jersey
Skin, what are you to me, but a beautiful
reminder of things I can’t remember.
The sweat of my back is not from hard work
but the luxury of stress. The burden
of being called first generation, the pressure
of hunting bacon and bringing it home
Skin, what do you attract, but problems
no woman, no strength or resilience
They say you bring heat, but what did that do
for me and my siblings when the power was gone
We were dead as cold, holding onto nothing
but our old coats, counting breaths our eyes could catch escaping
I still hold my coat at a distance, but sometimes
over my shoulder, maybe because I want
to hear my grandmother say,
“boy , you bet not leave this house without yo coat on”
That is black to me, if nothing else,
her voice colors me in, her touch twisting
memories down to my scalp: history
books couldn't tell me my great
grandfather loved poetry
couldn't show me the look in her eyes
when I recite a line or two—
I think she sees
her father in me, and I wish to give
her a word from the dead,
I wish eternity was her
combing the coils from my head.
What is this skin, outside
of this small life—
Something to shed
to one day wiggle out of—
a casket for the dead?
Wayne Benson Jr. is a poet, editor, and publisher from Easton, Pennsylvania. He earned his MFA from the Maslow Family Graduate Program in Creative Writing at Wilkes University and is the founder of Basement Poetry Podcast and Basement Publishing & Media LLC, dedicated to making poetry more accessible and equitable for emerging artists. He also produces KQ on the Avenue, Kinsman Quarterly’s dynamic podcast spotlighting published writers, local creatives, and underrepresented BIPOC artists. His poetry appears in CP Quarterly, perhappened magazine, Stick Figure Poetry, The Elevation Review, and more. Find him on Instagram @wayne_like_batman.
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