From Industrial Schools to forced assimilation, genocide means removal of those who birth nations — our living threatens. Colonization has been choking
In late morning, I lit red candles and placed them
next to a three-hinged mirror, as a way of seeing
shadows of shadows.
When my daughter was born I couldn’t stop thinking about how we
were going to die. If we were drowning, would it be better to hold her
to me even as she fought away or should I let her float off to wonder why
her mother didn’t help her? What if it’s fire and I have one bullet left? I
made sure my husband knew if there were death squads and he had to
choose, I’d never love him again if he didn’t choose her. If I’m lucky,
her crying face is the last thing I’ll see.
When black men drown, their daughters turn to their mothers
and ask What should I do with this misnamed shiver in my
left shoulder? How should I dress in public? They are weary
of standing at the shore, hands shading their eyes, trying
to make out their own fathers among the thousands bobbing
in the current. The mothers mumble and point to any flailing
that seems familiar. Mostly, they’re wrong. Buoyed by church
moans and comfort food of meat and cream, the daughters
try on other names that sound oddly broken when pressed
against the dank syllables of the fathers’. Drained, with just
forward in mind, they walk using the hip of only one parent.
They scratch in their sleep. Black water wells up in the wound.
on her window, a fog sure
to vanish even before she turned
from the window and here I am
years later living in that same
that it’s infinite. I kiss your cheek when you sleep
and wonder if you feel it.
I grow dirty while bathing in bottled water.
My bed comforter is a wet parking lot,
I wrap myself up in.