By: Jordan Isbell
An Urban Palm Reading
If E=mc2 rings as your anthem,
dust your cocoa-scented palms in chalk
and trace equations to send astronauts into space.
If your fingers flick at a basketball’s touch,
callus them from fake-outs and crossovers
to drain that game-winner over the boy next door.
If you are born with complexion as dark as onyx,
scribble out every “shadow” they hurl at you
and sit untouched in the front seats of algebra class.
If explaining Megan’s Law makes your voice cracks,
drag your knuckles across Uncle Tom’s face
the moment he claims an invasion of your body
hinges on what type of skirt you wear.
If your heart burns to carve a legacy at Spelman,
ignore piercing eyes that want you to carry
7 lb babies and not 7 lb books.
Do not hide your hands from the world
that expects it to hold a ladle
and not a hundred stories.
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