I marched through sanctified fields

those fields

in Georgia

 

Found where my family was

tortured

 

Vultures with scripture for claws

circled

above me

 

Wild boars with Confederate uniforms for tusks

stomped

around me

 

I stuffed my pious fingers in Georgia clay

and fed it my rage

acknowledged

their agony – their grief

my agony – my grief

 

Georgia soil

Georgia mud

water so sludgy

dense

with misery

Georgia clay

so crimson, wicked, bloody

and that blood

soaked

oh yes–it soaked

seeped

steeped

 

into my pores

into the spongy marrow of my bones

 

But it was like coming home

because

I was born with Georgia clay blood

 

Peaches growing here are

sweet

with the amniotic remnants of my

forebears

 

Mine

 

You cannot harm me

 

I was born inside the sharp licks of fire

I have waking nightmares, memories

of torment that isn’t mine

 

You cannot harm me

 

Because there have been times in my life

when I can

feel

the slits in my skin after the whistle of the whip

I can

feel

the wretched Georgia sun

maul

my face

collapse

across my back

 

I feel the sun

even when I’m inside, especially when I’m inside

 

There have been times when I

wake, screaming

the name of a child I’ve never met

 

We’ve never met

and yet

I am here, existing, with them

 

I stuffed my pious fingers in Georgia clay

and I fed it my sorrow

acknowledged

their agony – their grief

my agony – my grief

 

I poured libations (whiskey that burned, charred the soles of my feet)

 

Their blood/my blood

Their blood/my blood

 

Blood so red no one notices it’s black

Skin so Black no one notices it’s divine