Generation III

Give back the life I gave
you pay me my money down
so there’s no question
I did it for love for anything
but desire
put a tarnished nickel in my dish
so the guard will know
when he comes
with a bleeding chicken
tied to his wrist
with a bitter promise
that we are not kin
uncommitted forever.

Pay me what you cannot afford
to relinquish in rush hour streets
impaled on the high heels of women
jiggling and sweet
and tough as witches in a vineyard
where even your sweat smells
like love.

In the playground
children’s voices are singing
Rise Africa You Will Be Free
a grown woman
steps over my rigid legs
stretched across the threshold of a kitchen
where pink and blue cakes cool in the window
on alternate days
you cradle me
dab lard on my right cheek
where the key to our house
burned a scar
the shape of your new name
in the enemy’s tongue.