4:02 p.m. by Suheir Hammad
poem supposed to be about one minute and the lives of three women in it writing it and up the block a woman killed by her husband
poem now about one minute and the lives of four women in it
haitian mother she walks through town carrying her son's head—banging it against her thigh calling out creole come see, see what they've done to my flesh holds on to him grip tight through hair wool his head all that's left of her
in tunisia she folds pay up into stocking washes his european semen off her head hands her heart to god and this month's rent to mother sings berber the gold haired one favored me, rode and ripped my flesh, i now have food to eat
brooklyn lover stumbles—streets ragged under sneakers she carries her heart banged up against thighs crying ghetto look, look what's been done with my flesh, my trust, humanity, somebody tell me something good
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