by Catherine Maryse Anderson
My son was proud of his performance
on stage, or so I thought by his
posture and grin.
His drum solo was intoxicating,
his smile like maple syrup on
Did you notice that all the Black
kids were in the back? And you know
it’s not because we're not as good.
You know that, right? he said, the
syrup falling off the fork, onto his lap.
The music he played turning to static.