This Is Us

Free

What ‘freedom’ is — and is not

Red grinning mouths
Said we were free,
Through gleaming teeth
Set in polished skulls,
Though we still felt the bite
Of dogs, chains, nooses
Kneecaps on necks,
Devouring our air
Before we could breathe.

Free shouldn’t feel like
An eraser has rubbed you
From solid to invisible,
Leaving your soul threadbare
From too much kneeling,
Praying to be heard,
Begging to be seen,
Voice squeezed of juice,
Into husks dropped into dirt,
Ground down by boots.

Free shouldn’t feel like
Printed images of
Brothers, uncles, lovers
In black and white
Beside words of pity or fear,
Framed as victims or criminals,
Rather than men who
Cook like their mother,
Cradle hearts in their palms,
Cover wounds with balm
Emitting from their own life lines,
Like nectar from flower stems.