-
- Clifton's voice benevolent, searching out
- attaching onto
- the pain sitting in row after row after row.
- Her shadow arches area around her
- raising a giant replica, flat
- against the whitewashed wall.
Comfortable behind her own face
an easy smile spread a poetic haze
from person to person to person
- 'til her truth pierced and connected them
- one to another to another to another
- Her eyes turned in, to those places
- that stored the blood of being a woman,
- of being black.
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