He Asks

(inspired by James McBride’s autobiography)


“What color is Jesus?” the little black boy asked.
“He ain’t no color!” said his white mama, the answer quite a task.

“Then why do they make him white?” the little boy queried.
“Son, he ain’t no color, he’s a Spirit, period.”

“Well, if he ain’t black and he ain’t white,
why don’t he be gray and stop all this strife.”

“Son, if he had a color, He’d be the color of water.”
Said his adopted mama, “now don’t be a bother.”

“I’m just askin’ mom,” the little black boy said.
All these questions flying ‘round his first-grade head.

“Why make white in this picture here?”
The little black boy asked again, no answer appeared.

“I’m confused” he said to himself and decided to sit.
And like a stone—be silent, his heart in the pits.

“If my mama’s white and black are me and my brothers,
Jesus gotta be like water and have no color.”

“Mama, I still gotta know, does Jesus love me like the preacher say?”
“Why of course son, but you gotta look for it, and look every day.”

“Does he love me like white kids, I mean, just as much.”
“Sure he does,” the white mama said, and held him in her clutch.

“He proves he loves us by giving us the world and each other.”
The white mama says, grabbing him up in her arms that smother.

Smiling up at her, the little black boy grins and looks around.
Being held tight by Mama, his silenced fears had no sound.

11/02/2004

Posted on 11/02/2004
Copyright © 2024 Charlie Morgan