Graves Dug by Injustice

these are the stories of the city -

the stories the soil absorbed.

the stories buried in the courtroom -

with the culprit absolved.

these are the exchanges in the streets,

the exchanges in the homes.

the exchanges everywhere -

with no requirement to atone.

these are the truths hidden behind

the glass doors that are locked to preserve

the glass ceiling which remains unbreakable

with survivors watching their evidence burned.

these are the incarcerated words in

the body of a woman.

the body of a nation

with women anticipating their turn.

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white marks mask my nine-year-old skin from the itch that lingers after wearing my sa-bai lingers. golden earrings, ruby flower pins -- the clothes my ancestors wore leave redness on my skin. the eye-


when i call upon the mischief that undulated beneath this undying land, under air sheathed with a foul taste of the flosses of flying, cotton-candy stained with tar, saturated with disappointment and