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after hours

museum statues
of bare breasted women,
stoned into silence

silenced by stone,

cramped 
in candle lit corners

drip tears
for cracked ribs, 
broken limbs;

waxy ghost arms and legs
puppet-dance with shadows. 

From the rafters 
red winged blackbirds

swoop down,

build nests
in the braids
of their once hennaed hair.

after hours museum statues of bare breasted women, stoned into silence silenced by stone, cramped in candle lit corners drip tears for cracked ribs, broken limbs; waxy ghost arms and legs puppet-dance with shadows. From the rafters red winged blackbirds swoop down, build nests in the braids of their once hennaed hair.

Wow, what a prompt! No need to say more. Will let this #PoemsAbout #WaxTears speak for itself. @thebrokenspine.co.uk @alanparrywriter.co.uk Thanks for: #ReadRepostReply. #PoetsSupportPoets #KeepCreative #PoetsOfBlueSky

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Texas Cottonwood

My soft gray lumber 
walled this Black American church, 
a home
you bastards burnt
 
not to resurrect
but to bury in ashes.
 
Breastfed on blood distilled
from shackling stolen people, 
thorn-yoked, in cages,
you lit torches and sang
 
Hell no, you aren’t free!
Hell no, you aren’t free!    
 
My smooth branched roof 
charcoals the ground 
a young artist scours, 

gathering 
to his slave-descendant chest
braised bits of bone, chipped teeth, 
seared splinters of hope
 
to build an altar
syllable by syllable, 
from beloved family names
 
now forever
out of your filthy reach,
in the chapel 
of my yellow-green leaf canopy.


Karen Pierce Gonzalez

Texas Cottonwood My soft gray lumber walled this Black American church, a home you bastards burnt not to resurrect but to bury in ashes. Breastfed on blood distilled from shackling stolen people, thorn-yoked, in cages, you lit torches and sang Hell no, you aren’t free! Hell no, you aren’t free! My smooth branched roof charcoals the ground a young artist scours, gathering to his slave-descendant chest braised bits of bone, chipped teeth, seared splinters of hope to build an altar syllable by syllable, from beloved family names now forever out of your filthy reach, in the chapel of my yellow-green leaf canopy. Karen Pierce Gonzalez

I saw an art installation depicting this #HateCrime. Still haunts me. Happens TOO MANY times; once = too much. #PoemsAbout #BurnItDown @alanparry83.bsky.social @brokenspinearts.bsky.social #KeepCreative #PoetsSupportPoets #ReadRepostReply #AddAlt #PoetsofBlueSky #Poetry #PoetryCommunity #Racism

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