Nothing Black

Nothing Black
By Ieisha McIntyre

There is nothing Black about sitting under a McIntosh tree
waiting for hours to have an apple,
Drop –
On its own,
And,
Out of respect for gravity.

But, in my childhood, legs too short to pick apples from their resting place,
I was grateful for the sacrifice and ate even the core.
As a child,
I waited,
just so.

And stand here, an adult and black.
Surprised at the shock of others
when they find I have a love of apples.

Still.
I rely on the patience of my childhood.

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