Protest Poem
by Mendi Lewis Obadike
Should the years continue to press
as they press now, and in their pressing,
press the sugar from my skin, let the stone
that forms inside me be amber.
Should there be aching, then, for sweetness,
should they come looking and find me,
let them find in me this rock, and not
my bitter carapace. This rock, and think
of honey, stored away for safe-keeping.
Tomorrow, who knows?
Should the sun burn on, as it plans to do, and as it burns,
burn down all the trees, let my shadow
be a cool thing, reaching out to shade you.



