written by: Emily Vieweg
It is dangerous to write this poem.
My whiteness opens the door.
I face the world without
fear of arrest for wearing a hoodie and
driving too fast and I can always
cry if I get pulled over because
my child is in the back seat and the casserole is
in the oven and I just need to get home.
If I had a different name I might be
booed at a rally or just
not taken seriously by men in robes
(like they should matter)
I head home to a teen and a toddler
both also privileged in their whiteness
I didn’t make them white on purpose.
Sometimes privilege doesn’t follow me -
when I go to the clinic
for my birth control, only to be beaten over the soul
with pro-birthers who turn their backs
after the baby is born.
It is dangerous to continue.