AMAZING GRACE – PERFORMED MORE THAN TEN MILLION TIMES A YEAR
by Tricia Knoll
I was born sorting yellowing linens
in that steamer trunk of heritage.
Have I finished airing fabrics
in open-window blow of compassion?
Does fingering privilege mean
I commit supremacy?
Razor-blade words and blood on our hands.
How deep are cuts in remnants?
I eavesdrop on my milquetoast words
– eavesdrop, where the rain falls from the roof
splash-dash. I draw columns, humming.
Privilege
well-soaped saddle
smells of fine leather
my telescope sees
the brightest stars
Supremacy
a skeletal horse races
a shooting star
assume a rising star has
your name on it
white men walk away
from Waco
a black man serves three
years at Rikers for stealing
a backpack
a child’s inheritance
in a safety deposit box
a stone mausoleum with
steep caretaker fees
the weight of the lost
umbilical cord
the navel you live with
until you die
unopened birthday
presents of complacency
a fat beast of burden
snug in its traces
arrogance bound in
centuries of tree rings
the bull god’s
gold sarcophagus
Gyroscope Review - page 18
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