Thoughts after being spit on and called a “hideous cunt”, by a white male on Capitol Hill, in “post racial” America:
Every morning
thirty 7th graders
stand and pledge
allegiance to a flag

that will never honor
their brown skin,
never work to
minimize the saliva

of white mouthed
hatred on their
favorite winter coat,
so no,
I will not pledge
my soul to
the bottomless lynched
heritage where ropes

have turned to badges
and registered 9 millimeters
strapped to white hips,
remorse absent against wailing
Mothers with brown skin,
the community left to
bear witness, broken like
our ancestors necks: strange
fruit in poplar tree.

There is something to be said
For a society that fails
To acknowledge the sway
of bodies in “post

racial” wind.
(You can purchase this poem in my chapbook #Portland)

Poetry creates an opportunity for youth and adults to connect to their experiences in a way that enables them to tell it in their own words.  One of the ways that oppression continues, is the silence around marginalized folks stories.  Art is an incredible opportunity to empower the narratives of folks who are otherwise silenced. This is why I teach.  This is why I publish.  This is why my craft exists.


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