Moment One

I remember my birth

like it was tomorrow, the unholy sensation

of abandon, accepted struggle

my mother’s womb a burning revolution,

promise on fire.

I do not recall the choice to be burning,

wayward archeologist

searching for skin in uncharted ground.

Before my skin, colour of handcuffs

became fodder and fuel

for a war I was born into,

clock hands pointing towards a verdict,

seat-belt light off

crash landing into tomorrow.

Mother bled a lament

we could both see tomorrow,

I arrived a blessing fragmented,

a dark-skinned schism.

My cry so familiar, it was heard in the past.