the stuff on us

we have
always been covered
in the stuff
opaque
a color
not yet named
we look
picked up
from Earth
dipped in bitter syrup and
rolled in
coarse
dust

we remember not
a time without
the stuff
on us
but we feel that
it
is not
a part
of us
it is something
evil
extra

it
weighs our steps
it
pulls our faces
early to adulthood
early to age
with wrinkles
that tell
of pain

pain yesterday as
demons came
to our continent
reeking like
the stifling smell we
have all grown used to
the smell of
the stuff
on us

they
took us
away
took us
in chains
to the coast
to these boats

boats hauling us
toward ships
bound for fate’s hopeless
cold and distant shores

we lift desperate
lungs skyward
as our bodies cut through
waves bigger than we’ve seen
on this lake
bigger than we’ve seen
the water is
salt
and somehow the salt is cause
of some stuff
on us
to peel away

through stinging eyes we
see
see our own skin

some of us are dark
darkness not
frightening like
clouds on night
but rich beautifully varying darkness
like
the shiny wood we shape
into masks
darkness like
many stones
formed deep in Kilima Njaro
and like the earth
between those stones

some of us
are dark
but not
all of us

some of our skins
are red
red like dried blood
shed for home
land wide sustaining
seas of waist high
grass
sustaining buffalo buoys
sustaining those of
us
who
have already been made
to move
away

we are thrown to
the deck that will soon
hide us from sky
bear us away three deep and
millions wide to fate’s
far and hopeless shore

some among us are
tinted slightly yellow with
fierce dragon eyes
nose and mouth subdued
by shackles on talon hands
those of us are but four
small yellow star satellites
serving selfish wants of one
fat yellow star on fabric
dyed with
bright blood of
teachers
poets
and priests
Tiananmen tank treaded
to death
for non-conformity

we are buried alive in
the mass grave
of the ship that carries us
to death certainly
on fates far
and hopeless shore

just before the door
is sealed our captors
lay down among us
themselves covered
in the stuff
they too are chained hand to foot
in the salty gaps between
their still covered skin
we see they too
display a variety of hues
we feel the wind move
us but
know not what evil
unfurled the ghost ship’s sails
or what inhuman devil
laughs at its’ helm

in the dark
mankind floats
away from home
suffocating under the weight
of all of the stuff
on us

some of us
with black beards
and curls over ears
have olive skin turned brown
by African sun
days spent
building death homes for
pharaohs

the stuff
on the backs of those
of us
peels away from
whip scars
and sandstone abrasions
some of us
had been slaves before
as the stuff on the feet
of those
peel away
it takes
seabottom mud
bits of bread
flakes of spilled milk
stuck on soles
with stray honey
from the
delivery
from slavery

¿who will deliver us
from fate’s hopeless
cold and distant shore
¿who will completely cleanse
us from the stuff
on us
the stuff that hides
the beautiful black white
red yellow brown
of freed humanity
¿who will offer salt from
sweat of
labor for our cause
¿who will
march
march
for freedom
march
march
march
as one
one bruised bleeding body
Slowly taking
Step and painful step and
Slowly bearing the burden
of all the stuff
on us
a beam across
his shoulders
¿who will absorb every
blow oppression delivers
every sting of injustice
a woodsplinter
in his open back
our hate crimes are
nails in his vessel
that bears him to fate’s
cold and distant shore

the penalties
for those crimes
are one
one spear in his side