I walk upon a path of
tears,
shed like bits of broken
soul
from eyes shut wide.

My ancestors.

And along the way,
sugar cane seeks to see me
stumble -
bundles of it dipped in the blood of
innocent
black-faced
flowers.

Tiny fingers
and baby hands,
which should have been
tenderly
running through
golden thrushes...

They still grip their
broken hearts,
dripping sweetly inside
those
stalks.

And though the beach around me
is devoid of all
life
but mine -
I can see a million footprints
ahead,
where my heels
have not yet
touched.

And the wind whispers
dearly
to me,
with the voice of cool mango
and the spray of clear sea...

"Child,
you will walk
in this procession
seemingly
alone;
but your family,
who still struggle with their shackles,
will accompany you -
through every faltering
step,
and every staggering
run -
waiting for you
to liberate
their
memories."

And so, I march.