"Next of Kin."
With our Black cloth and cracked glass eyes,
with surrender in our hearts like ragged white flags,
our muscles twisted ropes of used up lives,
we lift this casket built of sewn together bones.
We lift this new home above a pauper's grave.
We raise this exhausted body above our heads.
We have animal strength.
We have the same red eyes.
We have the same virus, the same desires.
Our hands have wiped up the bloody dust.
We raised this body, this shell of scarred skin,
we raised Johnny held together with stitches and steel pins.
We let go of the soul of one who gave in.
We know his storied tongue, the rusted barbed wire.
We've worn the filthy clothes, the starving yellow eyes.
We've seen people fall into the street like ghosts.
We raise the crutches that help to keep him going.
They lean against the wall-- broken, alone.
We have the same blinding pain, it's our very own.
We feel the needles the dope a god
we'll never know, no matter how many times we say,
but for the grace of God go I. We may curse that God today,
but we raise this soul, this tired body, this new home,
we lift it high above our heads.
We sing our sorrow songs.