America’s soil is seated on my speech.
And her breath flies  from my chest.
She reaches out to me with her two hands
That are lifted north and south
Hands that have my people’s  blood on them.
But the blood is black, not red.
America tried  to wash its hands.
But she forgot that I had the towel.
And I refused to throw it in.
I said to America  look at your hands.
You must see that you must do more than whitewash
You must stop sanitizing  and come clean.
Because if I give you the towel now
There will only be more blood
And this time it would be mine.