Black or White?

An autobiographical sonnet.

During the seventies, deep in the South;

I was white but raised black by a black man.

As a boy, I have watched the Ku Klux Klan

on the news--I felt unsafe as a black youth

who looked white. In those days, it was uncouth

and a mark of disgrace to be less than

the white son of a white man and woman:

even then I could feel this ugly truth.

Two-score years have passed and I’m still confused,

anxious and unclear as to what or how

I should be--am I white or black? (Abused

as a child, I relate to him still now.).

      Granted, it’s no joy being me--like this;

      but it’s better than being a racist!