Born in the African Slums
Melissa Burton
Perhaps, I’m ashamed by the you that is not me,
with the glue you eat, too hungry.
The way the women hold you, because you are legless.
Your light is dying, closing like the leaves of the lantern plant.
Your epidural layer, brown, contains a seed
that only grows to feed the mosquitoes landing on it.
You came to this land, unaware, blinded
by the toxins in your mother’s uterus
but with the will to fight. Your feet
talked for you, and young women giggled
and pinched the palm of your right foot.
They fainted at the skin, for you were a baby,
smooth like the juice flowing towards the floor,
spoiling the carpet.
Melissa Burton
Perhaps, I’m ashamed by the you that is not me,
with the glue you eat, too hungry.
The way the women hold you, because you are legless.
Your light is dying, closing like the leaves of the lantern plant.
Your epidural layer, brown, contains a seed
that only grows to feed the mosquitoes landing on it.
You came to this land, unaware, blinded
by the toxins in your mother’s uterus
but with the will to fight. Your feet
talked for you, and young women giggled
and pinched the palm of your right foot.
They fainted at the skin, for you were a baby,
smooth like the juice flowing towards the floor,
spoiling the carpet.