I am a small African woman
who opens her mouth and screams
into the dense burning foliage where
in a night made bright
from bucktoothed slaughter.
Weapons click in harmony
not far enough off. To say
I flee suggests I know my way.
I step over
who won't survive the fire
that, leaping in and out behind me,
they have set themselves.
Then I am mute
in front of an elevator which opens
to a column of whiteness in a suit,
and a woman less like my sex
than a bitch is. The big guns are now
and I am not the only one
who hears, though I say nothing:
my jaws ache to eat death
like a eat its litter.
I wish whiteness all over me,
and I am all white, the man offers
his tunnel out, the woman his hankie.
I am about to open my mouth Yes!
when what's approaching
makes them forget, leaves me
with myself, my white, white, white,
leaves me to the spit of the mob
that asks only
if I burn.