Nightmare

It must be difficult for a flag-waver, virus-spreader, and bigot to imagine himself on a long journey in the hold of a disease-infested seafaring kettle, and emerging later to stand on the auction block; it must be difficult for him, or her, to imagine the lash of the whip, the iron ring, or passing even one day as a slave in the fields. But once he does — for I wish to be generous — once he does, once she does, once they do, once I do, and once we all wait naked for the grand summing up — oh, I remember a little lost child, and the taste of grief in my mouth, and my tears of joy when the child was found — found! And I remember when they put me in the ground.

August 7, 2020

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