I am tired of patience. Not everyone makes
it to the future. Not everyone makes it
to the store and back, to the front porch.

On the day I introduce Afro-Futurism
to my science fiction students,
we watch transfixed as Janelle Monáe
moonwalks on a glittered stage.

What did Sun Ra say
about a planet for Black people,
about a planet just for Black people?

Fill the ocean with melted ice
until you can’t taste the salt.
Water spreads, makes more distance
between one place and everywhere else.
Poison the air until it becomes unbreathable.

I wanted my Black students
to boldly go where no one has gone before,
but when the ships leave for Alpha Centauri,
it’s just the newest wave of white flight.