Sarah D. Silvey

 

I sing a song of white privilege

A song of sunscreen and tomato sandwiches

A song of diet Cokes and Virginia Slims

I sing a song of chocolate chip cookies baked at midnight

Of Hershey’s nuggets

And meat with dinner every night

Of running down gravel roads, falling, and picking tiny rocks out of bloody palms

A song of homeschooling with a stay at home mom

Of please, and thank you, and Dear Lord

Of sit up straight

Of VHS tapes and shareware DOS games

Of Vivaldi and King James

Of Laurel and Hardy, and Scarface

Of Taily Bone on cassette, and Grimm’s Fairy Tales in hardback

Books and books and books and books

Wading the cold creek barefoot, the rocks don’t hurt after your feet go numb

Catching fireflies in the yard at dusk

More books, late into the night

Whoa, your dad’s house is huge! Are you rich?

Of exploring the woods

Dog bounding ahead, cats padding behind

My own secret church in a fallen tree

When I marvelled at life and wondered what I was,

A song with a touch of existential crisis

And even then

A nagging sense of guilt