I felt connection there,
my yellow skin flashing in stark contrast with
the black in my right hand,
the white in my left.
Freckles on my skin became
those on yours; your curly red hair
replaced my straight black --
my cracked determination
was strapped to the splint of
everyone's fragile hopes --
my straightened back emerged.
The whiplashes of
your grandfather's grandfathers
seared into my skin like the sun,
bandaged with the blood-soaked
cotton rags that I plucked from
his and his fields. Nights were spent dreaming
of the day the wheels of my freedom train
could take me away
on the railway.
On mosquito nights, sweat from heat and
sweat from tarnished passion crept in.
My legs were spread and Oppression was forced
into my bowels like an
My child leaked out from between my legs and
Bloodied my tattered skirt
before I even got a chance to hold her.
but from my wounds,
my wings sprouted
like a heralding dove of peace.
There is so much passion, bridled,
corked up and fermenting into the
most pungent wine, nectar
even sweeter than that found
on Mount Olympus and we --
we, as One, are more beautiful and pure
and wonderful than only one by himself.
I carried your children and
promises that were broken to you,
suffered the infanticide of your precious daughter,
held the gunshot-punched bodies of
your brothers who fought for their freedom.
Chains that once bound you
become light when everyone bears them,
and we bear them together,
as a necklace