Our History In Tatters Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

I see lives pulled asunder,
words biting, piercing what
we worked out to a lay out
that aimed to shield us all.

Now we speak with arms
raising placards that say
Wa-wa-wa- - WAIT! You did
not mean what you said, that
some people must not come
into a land that let you and yours
into its belly where you made a
bedchamber and now you lie
in it and kick the door closed.
when the very chamber is named
after their seas.

This deed leaves mine and your
history in tatters, for we write
it everyday with the ink of the blood
of those who weed the fields, pick
the red peppers and pick the grapes
yet have never tasted a single bottle
of the wine you sell at a price of
a week's wages. Wait! This Mayflower
cannot land on this shore with you
on it. Next! Green Card, you semi immigrant!