massa come in like he know i caint cry
new tears

he take what he want
he keep a hot hand

every new hatred
cinch my throat closed.

he take me

give me a name made outta iron
he say it til i ain’t myself

i, sheet rock.
i, a salted wound.

i the upset of everything,
unholy,
                 this.

one night we slip out
slick as paste and quiet
nighttime stubborn
keep a heat anyhow
sky blurred wit fever
i sweat my kerchief loose

we layin out
we lookin up

we shook wit night wind
we knees up, drift wood.

i say:
what you make a dem stars?
he say:

they just like us.     sizzlin     dead.

we once was warriors
bone sharp and tangling up
wit whatever wild was in the world
before some ships rolled in
wit folk we ain’t never seen
brandin iron and bullet men
claimin everythin
leavin misery

maybe
they know we ain’t always
been so lowly
so feverish wit brokenness
so in   fil   trated
maybe they can look past

the bruises
to see when we
were bigger underneath
and forgive us our frailty
we was overcome
wit the kind of
meanness that don’t care
about nothin but
feedin itself

we had hands once
and a river to bathe in

and names
full names
that called us home.

the chil’ren might know that
if they lookin at us right

we lost our mouths
‘cross a mighty mighty ocean.
coulda died but we don’t know how…

That morning he woke up and coupled
With his wife unceremoniously threw a leg
Over the bed after, sat up and told her
What they needed was more negroes
Like sayin you need to pick up milk from the store
Like sayin you outta eggs and corn meal
It was a simple thing you know…

The statement and the weightlessness
Of it like a shrug or a wink

More women like the other three
Ruined somehow from the inside

His house would be a city of resurrection maybe
Or medical marvel…

Every time you see a black girl bleeding
Think: Progress.