Groceries on the Path Unpaved
Crystal-Angelee Burrell
Margaret Reid Poetry Contest for Traditional Verse 2010 (view all the winners)
Fourth Prize
Right hand,
Grocery bag.
Left hand,
Free.
Her skin,
Well aged ebony.
Her voice,
Calm and weak.
She walks along the unpaved road,
Vulnerable and meek.
They stare,
Each eye is a sharp blade.
They jeer,
But she passes by unscathed.
Thrown stones
Hit her brittle bones.
She stumbles and they rave.
Groceries scatter all about the dusty path unpaved.
She shuts her eyes, but by surprise,
She sets to prove she's brave.
Stand off...
The whole town has stirred.
She walks over,
Never uttering a word.
Onlookers stare,
But they won't intervene.
They will witness the drama
And then flee the scene.
Finally the lady utters what she means,
Her dark brown eyes set against their blues and greens.
She's never been so close to a pair of
Those before.
Still she says, "Pick up my groceries from
The floor."
They only stare, so once more she implores,
"I said pick up my groceries from the floor."
All at once,
They make their move.
Their fists collapse into
Her every groove.
Her skin is sliced,
Hey gray hair is pulled.
The onlookers flee,
Just like we knew they would.
They pick her up,
Then throw her down,
Just to remind her who owns this town.
She lies defenseless on the unpaved
Ground.
Sirens are blaring now,
So the boys run away.
Unpunished.
Untouched, and free to live another day.
Finally,
The brigade stands over her head.
But she's the wrong color,
So she is left for dead.
Her story is told
When people get cold,
And their hearts seem cold and dry.
The women begin, but the men take the end;
It's too much and the women just cry.
The children insist,
That when they were at play,
They saw an angel on the path that day.
It floated around the unpaved ground,
And carried the lady away.
Some even maintain they heard it sing:
"White hair,
Black skin.
Red blood,
New wings."
