My breath is the salt spray

My breath is the salt spray
on your deep brown skin
as if we were ever on the same beach at the same time.
I reflect on those Los Angeles years
through a new lens
tinted
brown beach holidays when there was time to make the traffic-locked drive from east-side neighorhoods
we may as well have called the Westside whiteside as we stayed inside
I'm learning
about white privilege from black teachers
and now I almost know
what it feels like to never have had to speak for all the people of my racial group because
we are individuals
we have always been
individuals.
I have never had to worry that my actions will reflect poorly on other white people.
I am sickened by this
realization that I have no history, no meaning, no shared experience
of depth I cannot fathom.
Cast me out to sea, I want to struggle
to stay afloat
to take into my lungs little gasps of air and water...
My breath is the salt spray
on your deep brown skin.

A NaPoWriMo prompt - http://www.napowrimo.net/day-six-6/