REPROVED
By Tamara J. Madison
What woman think she not
muddied welcome mat,
broke-in bed-warmer,
Bartman, Leaks, D’Arc,
lit match beneath her feet?
From decorated throne to hearth of home,
banter of board/locker rooms,
in this place of breast unsafe--
bruise beneath baton
bleating rage and hatred,
noose dangling from the ribbons of “justice,”
knee anchored in her chest,
blade turning in her belly,
what woman think she not
keffired, niggered, muled?
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