a transcription of the poem read on the home page of this issue

by Amanda Johnston

I see the white man driving next to me and consider
every scenario of this moment as we approach a red light
and what’s at risk if I lower my window, expose my
daughter and myself to the unknown repercussions
of kindness. I calculate the risk involved to tell him
his gas cap is open. His face, a concoction of morning
traffic and time, ignores my initial honk and gesture
Toward his tank. My daughter asks, Is it safe?

I assure her I’ll smile, be soft, do all the right things
that in no way guarantee we’ll survive this human
interaction should he see danger, a threat, in my
concerned black woman face.

I honk again.

I refuse to live in a world where we’re too afraid
to do what’s right.

The man turns toward our car, aware now of our
existence, and the immediate future rests in his lap and
what’s beyond my understanding. He nods and drives off,
gas cap dangling. My daughter corrects me, No, mama.
The gas. Is it safe? and I’m lost in meaning. What is safe
in this burning for survival?

Poem copyright 2017 by Amanda Johnston. All rights reserved.

See more poems from Amanda Johnston on The Fight & The Fiddle: “It Begins,” “How Do I Explain,” “Two Americas,” and “untitled.” 

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Read more in this issue: Interview | Critical Essay | Writing Prompt