it's finally your turn, and then it's not

Today I read Citizen: An American Lyric by Claudia Rankine. It is poetry and essay in seven chapters, interspersed with image and collage. It is a work of art.

Citizen is a collection of microagressions and racial incidents; it is a complex journey on race.

And the cover... a hoodie. The new image of fear in America.

Your friend is speaking to your neighbor when you arrive home. The four police cars are gone. Your neighbor has apologized to your friend and is now apologizing to you. Feeling somewhat responsible for the actions of your neighbor, you clumsily tell your friend that the next time he wants to talk on the phone he should just go in the backyard. He looks at you a long minute before saying he can speak on the phone wherever he wants. Yes, of course, you say. Yes, of course.

In chapter two, the part about Serena Williams was heartbreaking. How had I not known about the 2004 US Open or 2009 or the 2012 Olympics or Indian Wells?

For Serena, the daily diminishment is a low flame, a constant drip.

Get this book. It is painful and beautiful to read.

In line at the drugstore it's finally your turn, and then it's not as he walks in front of you and puts his things on the counter. The cashier says, Sir, she was next. When he turns to you he is truly surprised.

Oh my God, I didn't see you.

You must be in a hurry, you offer.

No, no, no, I really didn't see you.