A Poem on Privilege

Lucky Birth

by Abigail Taylor

Yesterday I wrestled
with the type of meat I wanted on my sandwich,
while Yemen’s children died of cholera;
mothers saved their last crumb.
Yesterday I worried
about my reputation and the look of my hair
while Mexico pulled dead relatives from rubble;
the Caribbean awaited drinkable water.
Yesterday I continued
to benefit from white skin, lucky birth,
as Rohingya was cleaned out of Myanmar;
as another black American clenched his jaw,
dug his nails into a steering wheel.


© Abigail Taylor 2017.