Departure from Our Village

When the lock got so rusty it fell off, its clink

Echoed in the basement

Of our hollow stomachs.


Not knowing the sound of freedom, we locked arms at the elbows.

When one moved forward, we all fell

Smothered, seduced, or murdered by people we thought loved us.


When we tried to stand, the chips under our feet  

Slid us into each other. Our bodies touched.

We made more of us.


As our nails scratched across the bars

We      made     music.



You               hate. We ate poison.

Our plump bottoms shook and fell.

We made bass.


We summoned cries from the bottom of the Atlantic.

Recorded sobs and wails,

From the West African shore.


We made song.  


Like demi-gods

                       There was nothing

We could not create.


Even you–

You were formed

From the vibration of our lungs.


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