Fall 2017


Shawna Thomas


Cheeks swollen and rosy with blood

Hair full of grey and hope that the debt was paid

The bus she rode sat still

and the sidewalk he walked unevenly paved.

Red the color of our blood

And blue the color of his uniform

He filled their quota and tried to repay

Hidden behind cold orange skin and a crooked toupee

through sin and iniquity with the count of bodies

he killed that day.

Our masks adjusted to fit the new scene

counting each scar after each blessings

we remain unseen.

A nation hated us from the beginning

Had no problem with creating with us

Sleeping while making kids with us

Taking everything we had

and beating on us

appropriating our lives on a screen.

So we wear our masks

to hide behind

our lives will matter

but they dream otherwise.