Matthew E. Henry
when asked why I will never be poet laureate of [redacted]
because when I see the banners celebrating
400 years in conical white, red, and blue,
each sharp flap against mason-work
resounds as musket shot. the hyphen
after 1625, a black trail into the present—
the bullet that did its excising well.
the census says only .02% of this population
name themselves native. but how many
with ancestors who claimed Chickataubut
as Sac’hem? who mourned his stolen seats—
Passanageset, the Moswetuset Hummock?
No
I’m not the Black man you think I am.
yes. I’m quite sure. I’ve worn this name
and face my whole life. there’s no need
to apologize. just explain—to yourself—
your emphatic belief that amnesia took me
from myself. why you thought insisting
the details of our imagined past would morph
me into the other Negro whose acquaintance
you previously made.
the hours-long conversation about electrical
engineering, the perils of beef futures, and how
your grannies shared an unwavering trust
in transcendental meditation sounds utterly
fascinating. but I was not at a fondue party
turned orgy in Saint Paul, Minnesota, last Thursday.
no, I don’t know him. no. we aren’t related.
I’m sure we don’t look exactly alike.
Matthew E. Henry (MEH) is an educator, essayist, occasional flash writer, and author of seven poetry collections, most recently "Promises to Keep" (Wayfarer Books). Editor-in-chief of The Weight Journal, a poetry editor at American Poetry Journal, and nonfiction editor at Porcupine Literary, MEH’s publications include Had, Massachusetts Review, Mom Egg Review, Pedestal Magazine, Ploughshares, Stone Circle Review, Terrain, and The Worcester Review. MEH earned an MFA yet continued to spend money he didn’t have completing an MA in theology and a PhD in education. He writes about education, race, religion, and burning oppressive systems to the ground at www.MEHPoeting.com.