they don’t remember

me tied to a tree, rope

serpent constricting

mouth to the sky, tongue praying for rain

later the tree chopped

to make the paper

used to write how their grandfather

was benevolent to me

a loyal servant

highly regarded, smiley

Black name forgotten

imposed name planted in ink

ink that drowned my family,

beneath farmland plowed by my hands

they ripped my grandmother from the ground,

flattened for sheep and wheat

lucky, they tell me,

by a painting in a

golden floral frame

ornate – hung in a gallery

my scars never spoken

by paint, ink, paper, wheat, cane

my welts never protrude enough

to trip passersby

who just eat the wheat they’re served as

it says their grandfather

is a hero who built this town

see his statue so much they forget it is there