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When a Brown Person Asks for Help

By Sandra Ramirez From Issue No. 6

He clutched the neighbor’s forgotten wallet

as if he’d thought long and hard

about this very moment

though he hadn’t counted on a fortress

of stairs, or my staggering into the courtyard,

the word help hanging in the air

like an offence, becoming tangled

in the nakedness of winter

and the wheelchair in need of oiling,

in my overeager insistence

to relieve the uselessness

of being, all my failed attempts,

though he wasn’t buying  any of that shit

and never even bothered

to say thank you.

About Sandra Ramirez More From Issue No. 6