I am a Black Poet

Which means I cannot write
about the tree in my yard— unless
something is hanging from it

unless I tell you
of the roots and how deep
they run

I cannot write a poem
where I come home to my love
and make love to her, without

the chance my blood spills
and spreads, because someone swears
this is not my house—

Would you like this if I said
I don’t want to use the white
space because I want black

to be the norm
even if just for a page
would you believe
if I told you this was not

political—because I want black
not to look like a fist
for a second.

If I told you the tree in my yard
was not a metaphor for something
that continues to grow under dire

circumstances. I am not that tree
I am a black poet. The tree
was just there. I don’t know
how it got there, I just thought

it was kind of cool
how the sunlight hit it
at just the right angle
to split it in half

Wayne Benson is a poet from Easton, Pennsylvania, and the current poetry editor of River and South Review. He is an MFA candidate with the Maslow Family Graduate Program in Creative Writing at Wilkes University, and currently has poems published in Crêpe & Penn Magazine, Mineral Lit Magazine, and Perhappened Magazine. He also runs a podcast called “Basement Poetry Podcast.”