Hmm! that lanky smile on your face
Squeeze it underneath your father’s pillow
Call his woes a bridge to your next orbit
Foot, taste on them before his night turns grey
Allow him to speak more than you will ever listen?
White faces
White fences
White concoctions
White intentions gawking
White finds home in the black sand too
How come everyone speaks of the runaways?
Soft feet, textured in the grieves that beholden
A spade to call one’s own, humbled knees abide
Nourish your mind with the memories of your lust
Marinate their thoughts with the shades of being
Then exit, and watch every door fall behind you
Your mother you hear her speak
Even when she lays asleep in her bed
She’s only your mother because she birthed you
Screeching to the end of the rope she holds onto
She too is a fish rotating in the same social bowl
They don’t write books about women like her
The ones who gather wood and lit their own fires
The demure Peacocks stripped off of every feather
Too broken, but still stretches their womb for men
But this woman, she fathers you now
She is home for no one except for herself only
Gathering your unwanted and trying to want it now
barb-wired tongue flickering, no prayers could save you?
Which part of hers is your beak and which of his are your wings?
Black voices
Black impulses
Black fences falling apart?
Black rivers turning utterly silent?
Black is free only as long as he gallops?
Black stoops too short she bleeds again?
Who is to be blamed for this rusting?
This forever newness wavering in the distance?
One too cold to have missed out on living free?
When the children wake up again, they’ll trudge?
Ask which side they’ll stand between our fences?
Must we say we’ve been ambushed by our wounds?
Must we say we didn’t see this coming?
Must we say we didn’t see this coming?
Must WE?
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