A Wake In Our Mind

In memory of the memory of the 1921 Tulsa Massacre

Do we weep for split
ends and no means?
We weep without end.

For matches unmade
in fire on tar, drowned
by what their mothers cry.

We see it like
dread incarnate, beautiful
and tragic like the night
ninety-seven years mourned forty-
five promises and
every night since:

a wake in our mind.
The rot of us so
celebrated and so easily lost
in more tar and gun-
smoke.
A wake.

The changing winds they are
upon us,
but we are changing too

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