Untitled

By sheena d.

hands unchained
bodies unstretched
songs unsung
tomorrows UNASSIGNED

four heads bow to the ground
looking for what will not, can not, grow here
looking for what will not, can not, sprout from dry ground and faint sun
one head witnesses what is on the way

distant trees thrive in cherry browns and meadowed southern greens
itchy nostrils full of smoke from what burned here
what caught fire centuries ago
twangy singing, fingers snapping, carried in the wind

distant trees brush and sway against tired grey clouds
as aged rocking church hands reach to touch some spirit

five bright brown black boys stand on dirt that softens under their feet
dirt working around brown black bugs
dirt working around severed roots

five bright brown black boys stand on dirt
their feet pushing against a soil that shifts
but won’t break
soil that won’t steady or undo or compromise

five bright brown black boys stand unarmed
unshirted over ancestors’ footprints
searching for for clues, wisdom, facts
searching for a trail that leads away
from this field to somewhere
they might find room to grow

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