Post-post-colonial Zoology

There was no first person
Or third world
We was singular
No distinction between
The air and our lungs
A tree and our legs
Our hearts and the sun

All we were
Could be plucked from a vine
Plunge our paws into Earth
To remind ourselves that
Our beginnings and endings
Were one

Seeds were passed out at town meetings
We planted them and they became our children
We became their grandchildren
Night was the songs that nursed our dreams
Day the lady who enticed us to
Make the most of eyes and fingers

In time
Out of time
We drifted from the source
Seduced by a vagrant among us
Who charmed us with fibs
About sacrificing now for a sweeter hereafter

Mongrels from unwanted parts of ourselves
Invaded our siestas with ghosts
That buried death in our laps

As if death were a thing

Flocks of swindlers
Plucked us from our mothers
Spliced our genes
Encased our memories in test tubes
Erected statues of strangers
Walls
Ideas made of concrete and fiberglass
To keep our knuckles
Away from our mother's caress

Bells rang every 45 minutes precisely
Excising our commitment to the unseen
We kidnapped ourselves
Sent to detention
Convinced our cell blocks
Were built for our own protection

At present
We occupy our timelessness
Clinging to the roof of our cage
Reaching between the bars for mirages
Mirroring the women and men we divorced
On our birthday

At present
We visit ourselves
In zoological preserves
Wave to the prisoners inside us
Hurling treats at our reflections
Capturing the moment with
Almost snapshots resembling
The miracles were we
Before we were
Who we are
Live game
Restrained for our own well being
Innoculated
Subjugated
And put on private public display
For $10 a visit