A World

Bulbs that were naked and notes painted blue
Hair that was plaited with an iron off the stove
--They left an imprint in the subtlest of ways
Like the steam from their cooking with its comforting taste

Something they hummed as the radio played
High on a shelf on the warm humid days
The sound of them scolding, the slippers they wore
Or the names of the children that waited at home

Clay eaten raw, escaped calf in the lane
Words they directed at spirits unseen--


Now their voices are silent, their footsteps extinct
My bones have all hardened and the cycle's complete

Quick look in the mirror, tell me what have I gained?
Maybe I'm not as 'white' as the ones who complain
They'll never grasp it and I can't explain
That harmonious world of which nothing remains

Slip on my shades so they
Won't see the tears
Who's left to dry them?

It's all disappeared.

 


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