You decorated with marble elephants,
posters of Coltrane and Miles.
No one mistreated you
so you made us
invited us over for dinner party
tutorials, each course exposed
demonstrated your native bounty:
we couldn’t understand your otherness.
When I suggested otherwise,
you said I could always hide.
Then you got your wish,
married an incredibly kind
clay white man.
You became a subcontinent of your own making—
the other at the breakfast table
and in bed.
Admit you enjoy being occupied, preoccupied,
with who you can’t be,
a place we can’t go.