Smoke Scry Cry

1 min readJun 7, 2018

The smoke spoke softly

wafting into yesterdays I had put aside

in favor of my pride

I remember not being able to wash away the smell

the horror of abandoned children

working in a living hell

shell of an empath hollowed

I could not even touch my own children some days

serving in a space of state violence

silence and hunger

we suffered alongside those babies on the inside

and I could not wash the rot away

I could not come clean

I sweated grief from pours

wore my heart on my sleeve trauma in my pocket and lamentation

hung from wrists like charms

there was always a rash around my neck

raised bumps marching towards my throat like troops

the truth was locked in a tower in my neck

I slumped

I hunched over in grotesque empathy

while I carried baby tears

and momma shame

under my skin

this does not come off in shower

they do not sell enough deodorant

to keep the secrets sealed

when the subcutaneous and the subconscious conspire with your spirit

to alarm those around me that our bodies are in battle

the war don’t wash off so easily

for me

I sleep by the fire, I nurse babies to sleep in hell

I lock children to sleep in cells

I am sorry you are offended

perhaps it’s best you keep your distance

anyway

Written by Fiyah Angelou