Ancestral
by caroline padgett Strapped to the pole bare breasted wide eyes trembling, begging for quick release no one grants Her. This Crucifixion is never glorified. Her back split open Flesh torn, pink and oozing the white bone visible. Underneath the first tear of skin We are all the same color. The small white bar of soap, an attempt to find dignity, lay in the brown dirt below Her, too far away for any hope to reach. Driven mad by his craving, to devour the innocent and good, He carves hate so deep inside, it reaches beyond Her life where Her great-great- Grandchildren still search for release in tears she could not shed.
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