Poem supposed to be about one minute
And the lives of three women in it
Writing it
And up the block a woman killed
By her husband
And the lives of three women in it
Writing it
And up the block a woman killed
By her husband
Poem now about one minute
And the lives of four women
In it
Haitian mother
She walks through town
Carrying her son's head
Banging it against her thigh
Calling out creole
Come see
See what they've done to my flesh
Holds on to him grip tight
Through hair wool
His head
All that's left of her
In Tunisia
She folds pay up into stocking
Washes his european semen
Off her head
Hands her heart to God
And this month's rent to mother
Sings berber
The gold haired one favored me
Rode and ripped my flesh
I now have food to eat
Brooklyn lover
Stumbles
Streets ragged under sneakers
She carries her heart
Banged up against
Thighs
Crying
Ghetto look
Look what's been done with my flesh
My trust
Humanity
Somebody tell me
Something good
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