VIOLENCE We know the Nazis loved America; Hitler yearned to paint a twin, a green room where the dead are everywhere. Asked Abraham before the flame, to the obedient tribe What are these statues you cling to? Why calico, why Spanish moss, why the crickets scream. In a segregated graveyard, no stone reads private or public; the local jail is everywhere. Before another body is buried, a window is broken. A window was broken. The window is broken. In a high school history class, white children raised their eyebrows when I raised my voice. I don't know what they thought I was capable of; I wish I was more capable of it. (Zaina Alsous)
1 Comment
No posts
What a brilliant poem.