Unblended
Disposed
the innocent souls
of the abused.
The product of
big, sweaty bodies
and hard grunts
against soft brown bellies
in the small hours of the night
turning mourning.
Taken by light skinned people who enjoyed
the pleas and cries of the ‘savages’ to not be violated.
And so the innocent souls were taken:
to steep cliffs, swift rivers, unmarked graves,
and left in the darkest of shadows in the
deepest of cold for the beasts and birds.
The Black women stripped of pride,
of clothing,
of their own children from their own loins,
who would not bear the sins of unbidden masters.
Even the pale women of the false gentry demanded
the progeny of broken vows be slain, and sometimes
did the killing.
So many innocent souls
born to sorrow,
sent back to their Creator
by Black hands that would not
swaddle their shame.
Bed-wench hearts broken,
beating in Black breasts
that would not suckle and sanctify
the cries of their rapists’ sins.
Black bodies blighted
by blended flesh,
bloated by foreign sperm,
took back their lives and rid the world of others,
but never reclaimed their own
innocent souls.
The Unblended,
blended still.
Loved,
forlorn,
and forgiven.
Beyond Panic 