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.
From Anarcha Speaks: A History in Poems. Copyright © 2018 by Dominique Christina. Reprinted with permission from Beacon Press, Boston, Massachusetts.