Form

"Eventually, I trust that by working in this manner, years from now, I will see my work as achieving pure form." - Kevin Jerome Everson

I wore a loose, white polyester top. With white buttons and a small collar. Black leggings and two white safety pins for earrings. My hair pulled up loosely. "White directors aren't asked about race. Why not ask the white folks what they think? We're not responsible for providing the answers to problems they created. Let them do the work. Let them struggle. Let them find the words." I listened from my kitchen as I prepared an impromptu meal: black rice with cilantro, mushrooms sautéed with sweet onions and white wine; and vichyssoise. Not bad for last minute. Between private reflections on my own past encounters with ignorance and misplaced intentions, I added ingredients and stirred. I offered nods of assent and the occasional scathing remark as I felt inspired. Then, after a circuitous conversation about the circuity of political posturing around race, we sat down and ate. I adjusted my white collar throughout the meal.