image by Juan Sanchez
what is this blood, colonialist
trying to bring me down
it is a part of me yet
it resists me
as part of
my mother is waiting
for me to discover...
her, myself
her, myself
for me to close down
the house of slaves
I built on every port
ancient and new
past and present
all the same
my children toiling
forbidden to read
forbidden to know
the glory of the word
the word from all around
360 degrees
forbidden to breathe
instead...
a day
of
mono
syllabic
sounds
a day
to bring
them
down
unfamiliar sounds
bring them down
cut
their feet
no where to grow
stumped
they dream
of being
precious
again
being who they are
sitiing in a room
with no paper
to write on
no pencils
to create
to create
beauty words
words to document
beauty lives
beauty sounds
goosebumps of joy
feet full of sweet meat
brown caramel toes
to feel to walk to dance
with story, with purpose
with history with pain
My mother is waiting
for me
me,
in a house
of slaves
a house
modern and pristine
lux with distraction
things things
none of which
belong to me
all past my arms reach
a game of light in shadows
an unforgiving illusion
