America, I Am

I come from the kidnapped,

the assaulted—

my country’tis of reparations as in-store credit

backordered to bankruptcy

It is me & my trophy wife

passing as a dream of some kind

All I want is 40 dead mules

& an acre of land w/ a lighthouse

right above the porch of the great Atlantic Ocean

just in case any of my ancestors tasted nasty & made it.

I come from a people who pay a penalty every sunrise

& divinate to paroled gods with rancid hog maws.

The stripes plowed into my grandfather’s back

will have to stand in for our family album.

Somebody threw some stars at my grand-momma’s head

& said ‘betcha won’t ask for no freedom no mo’!

Natives in prison-issue war bonnets say:

I come from a poisoned land that recycles children

into artillery shells

& where dark skin is good as

an invisibility cloak

until the police arrive.

I am proud to be a

where I can hold my head up and drown

in the downpour of state sanctioned cancer.

I am proud to hold my place

in back of the line.

I come from a land that’s open all night

like a shotgun wound.

& as for ya’ll tired,

ya’ll poor

ya’ll huddled masses

yearning to breathe free

Fuck ya’ll!

I come from a place promising

a burning cross in every yard

& two meth labs in every garage

& when I say: meth lab

I mean golden

retrievers smoking crank.

The country I come from

I can flash all its gang signs

& beatbox all their anthems.

I come from a place—

actually, I don’t know where I come from—

I just know I woke up here.

My babies were gone.

My house was on fire.

& I couldn’t breathe.

Poems of Protest, Resistance, and Empowerment