From the Archives...
Orphans and Bastards
So much depends
On lines that now
You must read
Between words.
Is it a school of fish
Or a business of ferrets?
Forbidden fruit
Of a servant’s sin,
Before dusk
You are
Abruptly
Dropped.
Voices in the street
Speak out of tune.
You say: “Free us
“From time and space”.
“From delivery doors,”
Echoes the driver.
Abandoned animal,
Like mine your birthday
Is not an event.
No one will feast
On your mother’s placenta.
So far North, deep and inside
We drag our African murmur split
Between our French syllables.