Subcontinent
by Akiva J. Savett


You decorated with marble elephants,
posters of Coltrane and Miles.
No one mistreated you

so you made us
colonialists--
invited us over for dinner party

tutorials, each course exposed
our ignorance,
demonstrated your native bounty:

we couldn’t understand your otherness.
When I suggested otherwise,
I, Jew,

you said I could always hide.
You couldn’t,
all ways.

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.






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