"A Mouthful of Salt... / I Came Through Numb Waters"

for Morgan P.

I know my suffering is loud but my skin

is light as sky and I was told to let it

open doors, shake hands, slip the cover

over their eyes, so I could be.

Free

is not a

negro doused in white

, blanched,

bleached, and sent down the path.

Free

almost never means

alive

, so please try—

I'm asking for help. Whose fist is in my ribs

at which gate. What color is the room.

How do I move the line when it is buried

in the earth. Why do you think my face

is the face you think you see. In the earth.

In the water. Where do I keep my feet.

My hands. My tongue. My lungs. My eye.