Funeral Dirge

By L Daniel 

I can still remember the mirth she spoke through, 

at this time I didn’t know 

melanin was any more 

than an aid 

to put you to sleep, 

I blamed her scream of laughter, down the mute school hall, for the glares shot at us. How is it girl 

to be black for 13 years, 

without knowing what 

you’re made up 

of? But I wasn’t yet aware 

why I had started crying, 

except that I was cold, 

and wrong, and more important, she was wrong: what ever 

I ended up being made up 

from was identical to a drug, 

when people neared me, 

I’d become indistinct, 

it helped me dream