(Originally published in spring of 2017)
the same forces, etched into your great-grandfather’s brow, monotone by the grime of would-be soil
the same forces keeping Angel, sinewy and fierce, locked up even though he’s just a boy
the same forces your Auntie sighs across the table, indefinitely, wheezing under the weight of doing every thing, for every one
the same forces, paralyzing that woman, on the corner, who sits like clay until dark, when she crumbles into shadow
the same forces, steeping in anger at softness where a man should be hard
the same forces
the same
forces
the same