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don’t want his name dragging behind me like a dead dog on a lead, like toilet roll on the sole of my new Converse All Stars, like a shedded snakeskin, like a second shadow, like the thick vapor trails of the Red Arrows, diesel mixed with colored dye, making a mark in the sky. I don’t need a plane because with my new name I can really fly.
I am eight when my sister, Anna, is placed into the nest of her white-wicker Moses basket, newly hatched, a chick for me to help Mum raise for the whole summer holiday.
“Don’t let anyone tell you that you are half anything. You and Anna are simply brother and sister. Don’t let anyone tell you that she’s your half sister. Don’t let anyone tell you that you are half black and half white. Half Cypriot and half Jamaican.
You are a full human being. It’s never as simple as being half and half.
All the girls in my class like me. I’m the only boy invited to their sleepovers. “Michael, are you free Friday night?” “Michael, do you like Disney and ice cream?” I share blankets on the floor with four, five, six girls or more. Emily is always invited because she’s the most popular girl in our class. Callum says, “You’re so lucky!” These girls are my friends. I do feel lucky.
He buys me gifts but this is not why I love him. He likes planes and astronomy; he has his head in the clouds, reaches for stars.
To celebrate, Uncle B takes me to Farnborough Airshow to see the Red Arrows. I love their speed and grace, red, white, and blue vapor trails behind them tagging the sky, graffiti defying gravity. They are what I look forward to all day and all year. Other planes are bigger but none compare to these darting beauties. Fast like freedom, now you see them, now they’re gone but not quite; the sky is blue but also red and white.
I push my way between the two boys and run and run and don’t stop until I reach the train station, where I throw up, rainbow violently, on the platform.
Uncle B says, “Pegasus, the horse with wings in Greek mythology, was born after the beheading of Medusa, when a drop of her blood fell to Earth.”
Flamingos fighting can look just like kissing, pecking beak-to-beak. Freeze frame and you may see a love heart in the shape of their two necks arching out and together again.
Daisy continues reading her book and I am reading her. Can I trust her? “Bye, Daisy. See you tomorrow.” “Yeah.”
Daisy finishes The Curious Incident and begins The Fault in Our Stars. I read one book, The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou, for the whole week and the following week, too. Taking my time.
Maya Angelou has written autobiographies; Mum has them all but when I try to read them I get jumbled up and lose my place. When I read her poems I always know where I am. This poem. This page.
I’m inspired by Maya Angelou, so I try to write my first poem in the back of my math book: Maya Angelou Maya Angelou’s words are so clear. She writes about love and standing up for yourself in the face of inequality. Even though she’s American, her words speak to me. Her poetry is everything I hope mine could be one day, for somebody. Even if that somebody is me.
Bob Marley and Beyoncé watch over us from my bedroom wall.
Divided by Love Math is the hardest class to focus in; I have Daisy sitting next to me and Rowan at the desk in front. Rowan is so cute and Daisy is equally so. I feel divided. I wish I could just have a normal day at school.
In our pairs, we all find a space of our own in the drama studio. We’ve been told to play a game called, “Yes, And!” Whatever your partner says, you’re supposed to agree and add something. I say to Rowan: “We’re going to the beach.” Rowan says, “Yes, and it’s a nudist beach, so we have to get naked.” He takes off his tie and swings it at crotch level. I laugh, and take off my tie, and swing it, too.
After the hairdresser, I go to visit Granny B to show her my locs, hoping she will see me as more Jamaican. She says, “Me nah like it, Mikey. Back a yard only Rasta man ave dis. Yuh tun Rasta?” I don’t answer. I don’t know much about Rastafarians but I like how the hairstyle looked on Bob Marley.
With letter in hand, I look for Rowan. He’s easy to find. The only ginger boy in the whole school. He’s a constant flame. A candle always lit. I call out his name. He turns, flicking his red mane out of his eyes.
I don’t know why he’s being so nice. He puts his arm around me and says, “Don’t worry, you can’t score every time but you still gotta take the shot. Respect for taking the risk, bro. I’ve got a question for you: Why did you ask out the whitest boy in school? Why not give a brother a chance?” I laugh, through my tears. “You’re funny.” “Yeah,” Kieran sighs, “so are you. I should go but if anyone gives you any trouble, you let me know.” He squeezes my shoulder, walks to the door.
When she sits down next to me, she whispers, “This is for you.” She slides me a folded sheet of paper with my name on. Dear Michael, I hope you’re okay. I’m sorry I didn’t get to read your letter. When you left, Kieran picked it up. He told me I was coldhearted. I’m sorry. I was taken by surprise. If it helps you to know, I’m bisexual. Are you? I thought you and Daisy were together. I’ve got a girlfriend. She’s at a different school. I reckon I love her. You seem wonderful. And brave. I’m sure you’ll find someone. See you in drama. Rowan :)
“Do you fancy Kieran?” I ask Daisy. “No,” she says. “I don’t fancy black boys.” It’s another one of those things she says that I don’t know how to respond to. If we weren’t friends I’d think she was racist. Can you be racist when you’re a quarter black?
Broken / Home Because the turtle carries its home on its back, it does not have to search for one. It is born with a soft shell that hardens as it grows. The turtle’s backbone is part of its shell, meaning an accident or attack could break the turtle’s back, leaving the turtle with a broken home it cannot escape from.
While they’re gone I Google “Speedos” and the first page of results brings up pictures of Tom Daley. I’m still looking at them when Mum, Anna, and Daisy return. Mum hands me a shopping bag. “Thanks, Mummy,” I say. “You’re welcome.” Mum giggles. “I’m gonna start packing, one week to go! Anna, come and help me pack.” Mum and Anna run out of the room, holding hands and laughing. I look in the bag to find the tiniest pair of bright pink Speedos I’ve ever seen. Daisy
When Daisy heads home, I go to my room and push my bed across to barricade the door. I fling off my clothes. Squeeze into the Speedos. I’m no Tom Daley but I like what I see in my full-length mirror. I turn to check out my butt, twerk a little, giggle.
Couples on mopeds ride past the house. Dogs walk humans before dinner.
The bottle is blue, in the shape of a male body with no arms, legs, or head, just a toned torso and bulging groin.
Even though it’s set in America, I see something of myself on-screen. I recognize what’s missing for them is also missing for me. I recognize the longing for a man, a father, a lover. As
“Where are your costumes?” asks the Undead Wife of Christ, taking her wine bottle back.
DESTINY: I’m vegan BEN: Since when? DESTINY: It’s been two weeks. I want to go to university as a better person
House of Mirrors Your best friend is a mirror. Other friends ask after you when you are standing right there. “Where are you?” they ask. “Why are you without your other self?” You two are the ingredients to make something brand-new. You cannot unbake a cake. You can only slice. A knife is a mirror. A best friend can be a knife. A best friend can be a knife. You can only slice. A knife is a mirror. You cannot unbake a cake to make something brand-new. You two are the ingredients. “Why are you without your other self?” “Where are you?” they ask, when you are standing right there. Other friends
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Uncle B begins: “There’s always something. No matter how hard you work. No matter how well you do. How successful or respectable. There’s always something that will remind you you shouldn’t get too comfortable. I always thought education and money was going to earn me respect, but a successful black man is a threat. Pulling me over for driving a nice car. This isn’t what I wanted for your moving day but this is what it’s like to be black in this country or anywhere in the world. They interrupt our joy. Our history. Our progress. They know they can’t stop us unless they kill us but they can’t
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Instead, I go to a less intimidating table of posters: there’s one with a black cat and French writing, another of clocks that look like they’re melting; there’s one of a big blue and white wave; there’s a Pulp Fiction movie still of Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta pointing their guns; there’s the Trainspotting “Choose Life” monologue. I decide to buy one
of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
don’t really know what this hairstyle means but it looks good on me, shoulder-length and neat; most white locs look a mess, strands of straight hair sticking out everywhere and their roots coming undone. I tend to my roots daily, twist them with beeswax to ensure they endure wind, rain, and the shower. I wash them weekly, tighten them neatly so they grow strong— but do they belong?
Lennie says, “I only smoke weed for my chronic back pain.” I applaud his clever use of the Dr. Dre reference. He doesn’t know it. I say, “How can you not know Dr. Dre?” Lennie replies, laughing, “Why aren’t you a drug dealer?” Lennie
Lennie seems to see I feel awkward; he defuses the situation: “Did you know that a black panther is not actually a species? It’s a melanin variant of any big cat. In Asia and Africa they are leopards, and in America they are jaguars.” I give Lennie the Wakanda salute. He raises a fist to give the Black Power salute.
“Stop! You’re making it worse,” laughs Lennie, passing the spliff back to me. “Mikey boy, you’re on your own.” I decide I like how Lennie’s chosen to call me Mikey.
Out of twelve of us, the only other “poet” is a white guy with locs called Vegan Warrior, and his poem compares eating meat to the transatlantic slave trade. It’s terrible. I
I come from my own pen but I see people torn apart like paper, each a story or poem that never made it into a book.
I’m hearing this semicoherent account from this man in touch with something that many men will never figure out, but one phrase he said is stuck in my head. “I’m not gay” “I’m not gay but” “but” “but, men”
“men” “men, we can understand each other.”
I’m walking across campus back to my room with Jack in silence, not quite comfortable, not quite awkward. I want to know what Jack’s thinking. I look up at him. He looks down at me and smiles and I smile back. I look forward. Just keep walking.
he’s so classically attractive, it’s unreal, like a statue of Perseus or Michelangelo’s David, somewhat cliché and not once did I think, He’d never be into me and not once did I think, He’s got to be straight.
whenever he comes to visit me he sleeps with someone. Granted, you’re the first guy and I can see why you caught his eye up on that stage, all confident with your words and sense of self, speaking and being heard. It’s amazing what you do, I applaud you and I’m sure, in the moment, he adored you. You see, he’s never had that, we’ve never had that, but he’s had you now, Mike, and that’s that.”
am an island. Boy becoming a man. I am at university discovering my identity.
“You both need to understand the black woman, black man, black trans person is always last to be thought of as attractive in this white supremacist society.
When a white person says they’re only into black people, that’s fetishization, which is also a form of racism. If their skin or racialized features matter more to you than the person within, that’s racism. I can’t be your friend without calling this out. Your ignorance may be innocent but the racism is real. I want both of you to think about how what you said might make me feel.”
To have a loving family is to feel afraid and yet believe you are going to be all right.
I wanted to be ready before they got here but I’m not happy with my makeup, I’ve put it on and taken it off three times. I know it’s not the most important thing. I imagined opening the door looking perfect, in character being shady and charming and confident and fierce, but right now I’m a wreck. My
