Listen to Nathan McClain read “I don’t want to be colored.”

he said or heard
himself say but
after having

picked her
up already not
seeing the crayon until

she marked his
cheek with
the blunt thing

the crayon
worked something like
a chisel in a chunk

of rock I know you
heard me . . . chiseling
away at what

must have been
lodged underneath
each stroke jagged

and purple
curling into
a spiral-like shape

a solid line
coiled tight
though not

quite circular
no part connected
mind you

her mind made
no such connections
you see

not yet
still just a girl
innocent forgivable

for now
so what choice
did he have

but to give himself up
turn the other cheek
what harm done

anyhow
it looked
when shaded that way

a bit like acceptance
or relief
didn’t it

the crayon
stripped of its wrapper
and in her hand

fat as happiness
what choice did he have
but to take that away

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