My Name & Other Bright Things

White women mispronounces my name...again

And I correct her

She always compliments me on how ethnic and original it sounds

Enjoying the way my vowels rolls off her tongue

I guess my name tastes sweet to someone lacking originality

She whispers to me

“That’s a bit hard to remember do you have a nickname”

And I remember all the times

People would comment on how ethnic my name sounds

On how Afro American it jumps out at you

The prelude to the question of  “No, where are you really from”

Every time someone asks if I have a nickname

Because my name is obviously too hard to remember

I have to remind myself that black bodies

Have the hardest time being remembered

Even when they’ve been dehumanized

And put on display for onlookers to see

With a bullet in their chest

And blood spilling out of them

Because black bodies have always been treated like winter coats

With a life span that is only seasonal and not meant to last forever

Hung up on the nearest tree when we were no longer useful

for anything other than postcards

Whenever someone asks me if I have a nickname

Because my name is too black to remember

I say yes

“My name is Jaquan but most people call me Jaquan”

And I think it infuriates them

When a black body actually gives a name to something

That belongs to something other than themselves

White women mispronounces my name for the fifth time after we have met

And everytime I correct her

She fires back about how apologetic she is and how diversity is her last name

“I just have a hard time remembering names like those” she complains

Followed by “But I voted for Barack Obama too ya know”

Which is to say

“You are not worth remembering as more than a body”

A body is all history ever remembers

Ask a middle schoolers textbook

How history has the hardest time

Remembering black names

As if African American History isn’t American History

As if “yall niggas aint ever been worth remembering so I’ll be damned if you stay in my memory”

As if the Civil Rights Movement was 200 years ago

Like when white women says “omg yall still use the suffering of your ancestors as an excuse what is wrong with your community”

And my tongue wishes to lash out at her

And tell her to stop talking about my grandparents like that

The problem is that white women still thinks this poem is about her but I want you to know

My name is the brightest thing you will ever encounter

So I’d appreciate if you said it correctly