in response to [American Journal] by Robert Hayden

I could not have imagined a realm so dark
so turbulent

its damp, brown earth littered with the
debris of —
what do they call it? —

When I arrived, I was fatigued from travel.

I looked everywhere for something to satiate me.

I was
told
I could not have the items behind the counters,
because I had to “buy” them.

I could not buy them without finding work.

I marched from
establishment to establishment, asking for a chance,

the soles of my feet
sliced.

When I found work,
they would not let me
leave work to pay
for any of those items behind the counters.

When I found work
I found
that the men in suits would not let me
stop work.

They needed me to
need work so that they could fly mini-planes to other places
less littered
by this madness.

When I found work
(and worked and worked…),
I
lost track of work,
of
years worked.

All that work, I
lost the hankering for those items behind the counters.

All that work, I
lost the vessel that brought me here.

All that work, I
lost my hair
my sight
my hands
my heart
and whatever rights I thought I had.

And, of course,
with all that work, I

lost the memory of

a simpler time –

when I knew nothing of this place

and its machinations.

[© 2019 Sarah E. // published in The Menstrual May 2019]