Suppose we are standing together a minute
on the wire floor of a gasenwagon:
suppose we are in the dark.
It’s warm and dry.
We have food.
We aren’t in hiding waiting.
We have grown up white in America: mostly
we’re sitting in our own light rooms.
Come over, bring things: bring
milk, peanut butter,
your pills, your woolens, crayons.
Nuns pray.
Snow. It’s dark.
Pray for our friends who died
last year and the year
before and who will die this year.
Let’s speak,
as the bees do.
April
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