She snaps a picture:
They shine like blood diamonds,
A million come,
A million gone,
Lost in the individual masses,
A sea of black faces
With suffering in the eyes.
Displaced for rocks,
Displayed as a photo
In a page,
In a doctor's office
And the white man shakes his head.
His name is called,
And the magazine will stay for years,
Just a photo with no memory.