the h sits
just after the p
whose roundness disguises the violence in my body.
the sound of f
- an earth piercing sword -
on the back of my lip
forces its way to be the first sound you hear
implies importance in identifying this body.
we were named after a man
who believed he was entitled to us
though we existed long before
west bound itself to these islands.
of islands, peoples, voices,
navigated by stars
roots swimming through untamed oceans.
what makes others think they are more
than the blood that pumps through our veins?
sacrificed in confrontations
the blood that nourishes
and births new life with ancient wounds?
the sound comes
from our “saviors” who taught us
signing a cross is holier than thou using
the same fingers to carry food into our mouths…
when what could be more holy
than feeding ourselves?
nourishment made from the hands of elders
who are judged on the way they trip
unable to pronounce what does not exist
in our mothers’ tongues.
our blood is mixed
with those who brought “f” to our shores
a spectrum of complexions
our colonizers did not realize we
-generations born on stolen
first world lands-
holding this knowledge in our bodies
we hear the edges of our teeth
feel pressure against our skin
and learn how to use this sharpness against them.