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.
There was nothing
We could not create.
You were formed
From the vibration of our lungs.