History

Our stone wall was built by slaves and my bones, my bones are paid for. We have two of everything, twice heavy in our pockets, warming our two big hands. This is the story, as I know it. One morning: the ships came, as foretold, and death pearl-handled, almost and completely. How cheap a date I turned out to be. Each finger weak with the memory: lost teeth, regret. Our ghosts walk the shoulders of the road at night. I get the feeling you’ve been lying to me.