I Don't Sleep In White.

• Author: Shapero, Natalie
• Position: Poem

I Don't Sleep In White Religion being defined as the expectation of future punishments, my people sat in prayer. They sat on thatch and slashed their hair in marriage, traveled under Gothic names with papers sewn in the lining of their coats. I came late, talked late, misunderstood their jokes, those punch lines that entailed a working comprehension of old world exchange rates. I never prayed to God, but begged the clouds to meet my needs: not rain, form scenes from favored books. I was put into acting as a child, carried by other children over the lake of fire we were instructed to imagine. Student of ash, I grew up fleck-complected, short of breath. I set out seeds for small birds, watched them eat their weight; watched others do the same. Though I've been told white suits me, I don't sleep in white. My bad eyes in the morning can't discern a shirt from bedding. I am through with needing to have such fabric handed to me, turned out like the turned out feet of birds. Cloud, have mercy on these small destructions. Send me to a war, I'll leave the war. Sharpen my want of dying, I won't die. Cloud, believe I once believed in justice. I thought it was a bird that I could wait for: coffee thermos, special...