Posted in activism, poetry, published

America; America

I keep having this dream where
the white man isn’t angry
the black man entered
the white house.

When I wake up, the white man
has stolen everything.

I tell my neighbors but they don’t believe me
because he’s a white man wearing a red hat

and says he owns a bible.

They tell me he is our president and I don’t believe them
because I remember voting with my nephew
on my hip, his chubby fingers reaching for the ballot
while telling myself:

                              I’m with her because he’s with me.

I keep having this dream, America,
and you keep building more doors
for white men to enter our houses.

Originally published in Drunk Monkeys’ special “The Year of Trump” issue, which can be found here.

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Posted in poetry, Uncategorized

Push

By the book, I am
damned.
Commands meant
to be followed
by the faith-filled
were swallowed
without thought,
then hollowed
those followers
out.
Now, to me,
they look
for a nod,
maybe even
an amen
and then
they profess the word
quoted, but misread
and send me off
damned
as a do-gooder
with no pull.

Originally published in Issue 40 of The Legendary
A reading can be heard here.