Graphite scrapes through it.
A word cut from another
world, drug into ours dangling
like a cut of fresh meat strung up
a dirt road, used as bait
for yet another generation of wolves.
Don’t look at it! Don’t smell it!
You are not allowed to see it
read it
speak of it!
A tacked label itches
against the century-old context,
its crisp newness echoes
off the trees along the Mississippi.
This "slave" word does not belong here,
but we make it fit to ensure
yet another generation remains
deaf, but not blind.
