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Post by christina61 on Nov 20, 2008 17:51:11 GMT 2
Diaspora
Afraid is a country with no exit visas a wire of ants walking the horizon embroiders our passports at birth Johannesburg Alabama a dark girl flees the cattle prods skin hanging from her shredded nails escapes into my nightmare half an hour before the Shatila dawn wakes in the well of a borrowed Volkswagen or a rickety midnight sleeper out of White River Junction Washington bound again gulps carbon monoxide in a false bottomed truck fording the Braceras Grande or an up-country river grenades held dry in a calabash leaving
Our Dead Behind Us, Audre Lorde, W.W. Norton, 1986
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