FRANCIS FERNANDES - BLINDED

Francis Fernandes grew up in the US and Canada. He studied in Montréal and has a degree in Mathematics. Since spring 2020, his writing has appeared in over twenty literary journals, including Amethyst Review, Indolent Books, Third Wednesday, Montréal Writes, Underwood, Little Death Lit, Pace Magazine, Modern Poetry Quarterly Review, Defenestration Magazine, Saint Katherine Review, Front Porch Journal, and several others. He lives in Frankfurt, Germany, where he writes and teaches.

Blinded
​

​The sun is still summer hot 
– sort of – although her slant
tells you all there is to know.
I like to dwell on the good stuff, 
our history isn't that old. 
Not everyone agrees, but that's
how it is. I wish I could look
the other way, like I used to
from the concern of my father's 
frown. He was never sure
I would make it in this world:
me who always missed cinch
fly balls and forgot to tag up 
with less than two outs.
These days you can't see the hills
for all the smoke. One mustn't 
mistake the heat of the fire 
for the early dawn's mist, 
it isn't quite appropriate. 
Speaking of which,
if you have to ask whether
a system can be racist, then 
apparently you're not getting
the point. Now, like me, you may 
not be a person of colour, 
nor exactly white, maybe just 
a bunch of anxious atoms 
jostling in between, but times 
they're out of joint and some 
lines they're hard to see, 
drawn by the spite in people's 
hearts, real people with bright
coloured spoons and stocks 
stuck up their derrières. 
Or maybe not. Maybe they're just 
out of a job and fed up that 
the colour of void inside their 
wallets is getting short shrift, 
and a girl from Stockholm hailed
as the Second Coming while
someone's brother's being
stoned for defending his job.
I can't see how the year 
will close: it's like, everything
is up for grabs and despoiling,
and nothing worth toiling for
anymore. As for us, what can I say? 
Still foolish enough to hang around 
September, watching the sun roam 
across the sky like a lazy pop up – 
smooth, sweet, and just left of center.