Brown bodies sink,
are weighted, stick
to the ocean floor, falling
from overcrowded rafts
into the arms of their heathen’s heaven.
Brown bodies are shot over
the border like cannon balls.
Brown bodies heave
and churn in masses of Squalor and
Torment, brown bodies match
their mud-stained houses,
brown bodies fall into event horizons
like it’s a tradition and brown bodies
juxtapose the endings of every
body of water, because on the news,
brown bodies cling to each other
and to the hope of land.
Brown bodies become beautiful
when they are disposed of namelessly
and then are captured by a white man’s
sympathy, become beautiful
throat up, stretched out like sodden
flower petals in the baking sun.
Brown bodies are collateral damage
like beat-up dolls lying stray
on your child’s floor.
are weighted, stick
to the ocean floor, falling
from overcrowded rafts
into the arms of their heathen’s heaven.
Brown bodies are shot over
the border like cannon balls.
Brown bodies heave
and churn in masses of Squalor and
Torment, brown bodies match
their mud-stained houses,
brown bodies fall into event horizons
like it’s a tradition and brown bodies
juxtapose the endings of every
body of water, because on the news,
brown bodies cling to each other
and to the hope of land.
Brown bodies become beautiful
when they are disposed of namelessly
and then are captured by a white man’s
sympathy, become beautiful
throat up, stretched out like sodden
flower petals in the baking sun.
Brown bodies are collateral damage
like beat-up dolls lying stray
on your child’s floor.
- Read more about My People (As Anchors)
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