The fear is painted across the cracked pavement underneath our feet. How many times have we walked over dried blood without knowing?
Editor’s note: This poem is part of our #SpreadTheWord poem of the week series, featuring work by Chicago artists based on Injustice Watch reporting. This poem was inspired by a 2017 story by Jeanne Kuang, Will border wall stop illegal immigration? Not hardly, report says. For more poetry in this series, click here. She told me that growing up
Grief was a China Cabinet
And in her neighborhood
Everybody ate off plastic
Because it was safer for the children
And you couldn’t always trust guests
But after the dishes were washed and put away
Sometimes Mama would lay her hands on the
Red-stained wood once green with life
And a lone tear would float gentle like Moses
Toward the palace
A dangerous act of Faith and a small step
I must have missed the day
they explained my genitals
became a weapon.