Poem: Shards of Lost Justice

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Shards of Lost Justice

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

She trembles before the white man, a tiny dark hand clutched in hers.

“This is my child,” she says, defiant before him. “I’m keeping her.”

But the white man tears the child away and glares at the black woman.

“Send her back,” he says, and white hands pull mother away from child.

 

The brown woman struggles in the clutch of the ICE men.

Her daughter weeps as she watches them take her away.

“Let her stay,” pleads her husband. “It was only a traffic ticket.”

But the man with the badge shakes his head. “Send her back,” he says.

 

The little girl stands alone before the judge, no idea where her parents are.

“They brought me here,” she whispers. “I don’t know where my home is.”

“She was separated from her parents,” her lawyer says. “This is not the American way.”

The judge shakes his head. “The law is clear. Send her back.”

 

The brown woman is different. She is slight but strong, not easily vanquished.

An American citizen, a Congresswoman, a representative, she speaks out.

He doesn’t like what she says, her differences frighten him, so he bullies and brags.

“She doesn’t love America like me,” he tells the mob. “Send her back,” they chant.

Poem: The Ice Cream Truck

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The Ice Cream Truck

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

Don’t say goodbye yet.

Just wait. It’s not time to go.

The ice cream truck will be here soon enough.

See—you can hear the music.

I know your mouth is dry and you’re hungry—

I know the music is still far away,

But I can give you water while we wait.

We can watch the cars together.

Maybe there’s a fancy one.

They streak by in multicolored glory.

You almost forget the ice cream truck if you watch.

You almost forget you’re waiting.

But wait. Don’t leave.

I hear the music now.