They tell me that my name is Savage.
Their alabaster hands grab at my arms and legs
As they straighten my back and tie cloth around my breasts.
Our contrasting skin colors leave me wondering how to get that perfect shade of
10 chalky fingers press against my mouth to make me forget how to cry
They tell me that they are teaching me how to live in peace
But is this body worth living in
If all I leave behind is an empty bed?
They tell me that I was born from the dirt.
They don’t want me to remember my grandfather’s face
Or my grandmother’s spells.
I see their bodies relax when they look into my eyes and find nothing left.
They smile when I tell my daughter that her name is Savage too.