The hard truths of incarceration
I mush into a
digestible purée.
I hand-feed this
to my kin,
to my grandmother,
Ammuma,
two oceans away.
What else do I do
for those who sleep beside
the ghost of my absence?
I feed them
the truths of my dreams,
the truths of my resilience,
the truth of my word,
like how when I
was a baby
they fed me
the soft truths of life.
As for the hard truths of incarceration,
the truths of alienation,
the truths of grief,
the truth of lies,
I gulp them down
whole.