sing, unburied, sing

the truth crawls up my throatmy mouth shapes around it.i taste the ashes of blk bodies,they’ve blown in on the wind—made my eyes milky with ghostswho cannot rest with so much violencefloating underneath their skin.i steel my tongue on their sorrowful song,uncurl my spine, and wet my lips—the truth comes pushing out,its body small and blk.too small to have seen a prison,but life has a way of peeling blk bodiesaway from their mother’s breastto throw to the wild—their only record of life left to thetongues of old men and women.(image by Nathaniel Tetteh via unsplash)