I.

on the television / uniformed men / in masks and sunglasses / stuff a person of color into a van / like an overfilled suitcase / the world drains to black and white / like fine print on a work order / the cars are the first to go grayscale / the notion of nation follows //

the cargo van transports stowaways / a one-way journey against their will / behind bulletproof glass alligator mouths snap shut // today justice has a metallic flavor / today justice refuses to yield to the merciful folds of our nation’s flag / today the red and white stripes across the fabric of our nation resemble prison bars / between them sleeps the history we whitewash / everyday is laundry day / every day americans justify the stains on our hands / we scrub websites / museum walls / the stain forever ground into the lines on our palms like blueberry juice after a day of harvest / like a tattoo of bible quotes / we are one nation / begging for mercy // somebody come save us // I’m ready / please wake me //

                         II.

The detention center is ringed by a moat surrounded by alligators / rows of teeth patrol for loose tongues / brambles amble across amber waves of grain / the thorns of our history never die // caution tape flaps in the wind, like a flag stretched far as the eye can see / fires burn in every kitchen in America//

I know what the world knows / I hear the alarm, see flames flicker each time I leaf through my passport / we mistake fireworks for freedom, for the right to bomb sovereign nations / see how those eagle talons are trained on you? / see how the optical illusion makes the dollar’s all-seeing eye follow you around the room? //

as we drive home, the road buckles from the heat and our tires grind to a halt / on foot, we wade through the swamp, past a marquee sign that reads:

misfortune
awaits
lucky you


                         III.

my husband’s mouth opens / a tongue rolls out like a red blanket / of words / of silence woven between them / I throw it on the fire / it extinguishes nothing // up close, I examine the fabric / see how it was sewn together by a grandmother’s hands / while she waited for apple pie to cool on the window sill / legacy suffocates in dessert / fires burn long like truck tires / like remnants of our mothers’ bras / no laws protect our nakedness //

my daughter dumps a glass of water on the flames / I watch them grow in the reflection in her eyes //

                         IV.

we’re in the grocery store / her feet swing from the cart / shoes on opposite feet / she sings a song in my lost native tongue // I use my wallet to scoop the water rising around us / fill our cart with blood / sweat / fear / overload it with all the things / I don’t want my crumpled dollar to buy //

I cry out / no sound comes / a hand gets closer / closer / too close / my swallowed cry joins one million other voices / that can speak but do not / why do they refuse to sing? //

my husband’s hand is on my back / he is trying to wake me from / my blanket struggle in the night / his shush is a flood / of alligators //

somewhere in the depths the whales are choosing to stay silent / in the distance of a musicless future I hear / a van door open / then close / I’m falling / I’m reaching / for something to grab / finding the edge of the mattress / below the abyss stares back with red eyes / and I wake /

                         VI.

sweat-drenched / I enter a room with an opulent banquet table / piled to the ceiling / with the blueberries my daughter asked for all morning // all our children want is blueberries //

outside I hear a neighbor / say grace / thank you, for all this food / we are so blessed with so much / more than we could ever eat / then the mouth complains / that the very same brown hands that put the food on his table / are the ones who take it from his mouth / knowing our waste could feed a nation //