Friday, April 5, 2013
By Dawn Karima Pettigrew I decolonize myself by laughing. My soft tongue will break a bone, Bite apples of gold from settings of silver. Just 30 pieces will ransom our lives. Where 40 acres and a mule rule, My laughter is a salve, That halves the steps of righteous men, Ordered, bordered by round dance songs, Wrongs, righted and set upright As my giggling heals. Hear me chuckle on the Trail of Tears Fear my happy bliss of hope, Reaching those imprisoned Mentioning there is, for a little space, grace And my joy is its balm.