American Aisling

In dreams, Sky Woman comes and stands

and bares for me her skin of black

and shows with clenched and trembling hands

the fresh welts raised upon her back.

She built her flesh through violent toil

yet owns it not; her hands are bound.

Her blood still runs to stain the soil.

It cries from underneath the ground.

And robed in white, with cross and roar,

the man gives her no time to grieve;

demands she build yet more and more.

"I can't," says she. "I cannot breathe."

He weeps and sings "Land of the free"

while crushing her neck beneath his knee.

Libbie Grant

May 28, 2020

Photo by Julio Cortez