My Privilege

By James Croal Jackson

I’m privileged to sit in my home on a sunny day 

with just a headache

in late May two thousand twenty. God I feel

plenty guilty. My friends 

are linking hands in the street and I am scared

of all that’s viral. Oh what has lingered

in the air since, yes, America. 

I have wept with internet videos

in my shadowed home, 

never gassed 

standing up for what is right.

You say protests are only one part of the revolution. We can’t

just go out there and put ourselves and others in danger.

How does that help the cause?

I am donating fucking money

waiting 

for unemployment to salvage 

fruit. I can’t say no 

to a food bank donation. To

the Freedom Fund. Reclaim the Block.

Justice for Ahmaud, Breonna… If I am not

downtown with my people

burning businesses of bigots

take all my worthless fucking money

and light the biggest fire

possible 

My Privilege was previously published by FlowerSong Press

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James Croal Jackson (he/him) is a Filipino-American poet. He has two chapbooks, Our Past Leaves (Kelsay Books, forthcoming 2021) and The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017), with recent poems in White Wall Review, Subnivean, and Hello America. He edits The Mantle Poetry (themantlepoetry.com) from Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com)