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A Poem from an Anglo American



an anglo american

grown in the western sun

of a small town

where the peach blossoms bloom

and the wine vines spread

raised above

the desert floor


wings spread across

the rocky mountains

the tall pines

the corn fields

the flat lands

the blue ridge

and ivy dense forests

the city bustle

far in the corners

of new england

and the deep

where the fish swim

and the water chills


down

down

down


to a vast lake

named victoria


people

people

people


earth smell of

rain soaked green

an unfamiliar scent

a city smell of


burning

burn

burned

to a village

a banana plantation

maize

6 feet


tall

tall

tall


18 hands


quaint

yet strong

and jawlines

sturdy

and eyes

steady

a new home

but a visitor

still

a visitor

always


muzungu

muzungu


white person

white person


words flavored kind

in admiration

from the mouths

of which

speak


but flavored

bitter

in the heart

receiving


oh how it feels

when you are called


exposed


whiteness


an unusual

flavor of cream

in the inward parts

of the

pearl


a disposition

somehow lighter

somehow dirtier


skin speckled

with a murky

history

darkened

by the light

color


the story

feels

wrongfully told;

the admiration

an innocent misperception


especially at the hands

of those who come

in the name

of saving


the blood stains

from generations

past

remain

on your hands


and when you

come across

oceans

to save

all you do

is

strangle


wash your hands

wash your feet


know the stain

the red

soil

of your

own land

before you

step

onto holy ground


wash your hands

wash your feet


identify

your whiteness

with

the pang

the sting

the burn

the ache

of a generation

of your land

that came before

and that

bubbles up

even still


the name of

saving


it is no new thought

of the

light

ones

to internalize

a belief

of some better

moral standard

of some more

in-tune goodness


but so the story goes

that the

elephant

and mouse

threw a party

and the elephant

danced

and at the end

the elephant looked

for his friend

and found him

trampled

by his own foot


keep watch

my friend


wash your hands

wash your feet


do not trample

do not attempt

saving


it is not for you

to save

for we all need saving


even you

1 Kommentar


Meridy Roberts
Meridy Roberts
03. Mai 2021

Lovely, haunting and beautiful.

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