Privilege
john sibley williams
24
A smaller holocaust was happening.
In the flooded anthill beside a raked
–apart beehive. In the summer sun’s
magnification of spiders. Before the
house wore down around us, in that
misshapen light that broke through
unclasped shutters to paint odd bird
–flight on the walls. Youth’s brief
ruin, before we learn to turn hurt in-
ward. Empires of salt & slug, keyed
cars, kerosene couches turned forest
fire. Before we made religion out of
ethereal things, in the body confront
–ing itself in the mirror: all acne &
sinew & scar. Pornography. Skin as
white as rock salt. When the police
drove us home again, without arrest.