Beautiful

I’m not a big racist, but

And that’s how the joke started,

her uncle riffing on the n-word,

how it’s just a word,

how They use it all the time,

and how whenever he hears or sees the word “black,”

he just substitutes the word n – – – – -.

Like when he looks outside and sees

n – – – – – birds in the garden

eating the n – – – – -berries and the seeds of the

n – – – – -eyed Susans,

or how he wrecked his car on n – – – – – Friday

after hitting patch of n – – – – – ice.

Just a word, he hooted,

hood-white teeth against

the gray and n – – – – – hairs of his beard.

Just let him be, yawned pawpaw.

Just let it go, murmured memaw.

Just be careful, warned the rest of the clan.

Just a minute, plotted his eldest niece,

the favorite cousin

who worked at the plant,

fabricating plastic during the day,

manufacturing conflict during nights and weekends,

nonviolent resistance holding sit-ins

on his conversations,

substituting the word “Beautiful”

whenever a sentence called for “black.”

Like when uncle’s business was spamming clients

and she asked if he’d been Beautiful-listed,

or when she inquired if he’d like Beautiful licorice with his popcorn

while he watched the latest Beautiful Panther movie;

if he’d like cream and sugar with his coffee,

or if he just took it Beautiful;

if he thought the king cobra or the

Beautiful mamba was the deadliest snake in the world;

if he believed time travel was possible if

he could somehow travel through a Beautiful hole;or if he fought a martial arts expert,

an actual Beautiful belt,

would he win,

or would he just end up icing a couple of Beautiful eyes?

One cold February evening,

uncle called her up and

wished her a happy n – – – – – history month,

said he knew what she was doing,

and that her n – – – – – magic wouldn’t work on him,

and hung up.

Then

one hot August evening,

she called uncle up and

asked if he’d seen that the

first Beautiful woman had just

accepted a major party’s presidential nomination.

He asked if she’d called to gloat and said,

You think your magic’s gonna work on me now?

No, she said, turning off the lights and

peering through the skylight.I called to tell you it doesn’t matter.

Then she hung up, and gazed at

pinhole stars held firmly

by the Beautifulness of the night.

Kiyoshi Hirawa is a poet, writer, and former police officer who was wrongfully terminated after reporting sexual misconduct and rape committed by fellow police officers. Hirawa’s writing focuses on mental health, trauma, resiliency, hope, and providing a voice for the unheard, ignored, and overlooked.