Her singing in the mornings Low and deep How it rumbled under the dirty floor And crept up the newspaper walls He wondered if he’d ever see her again Hear her familiar thunder He imagines her, now, tearing down those bars She would reach in and cradle him up Carry him home Singing But her hands Black like his own Can’t free him
I asked her once why we never ate from those bowls She said they were too pretty That they deserved better I would give anything to see them now To reach out and touch them Just to hear her scream “No Roy!” And pinch the skin under my arm She would forgive me Like always That I knew She loved too much Weeks after they decided they would take our lives I got a letter from my sister Our mother had broken all of those bowls I imagine the soles of her feet Bare and bloodied
The Dream My dreams wake me up at night Before they brought me here I never had dreams Or at least any worth remembering
She stands amongst the yellow chips and bright blue flowers and weeps for me dreaming of a world where I too deserve better The God Fairy
My nightly journeys take me to places I remember fondly The smells from my mother’s kitchen A small wooden room lined with yellow bowls Etched with blue flowers We never ate from them They only sat and watched us My mother washed them each week And placed them gently back where they belonged 56
I heard every man’s last word before I carried his hot and lifeless body away. That’s the job they give me, to haul the electrocuted prisoners to the incinerator. Before death, every one of them prayed to my God. They apologized for their wrongs and asked to be let through the pearly gates. 57
