they carried the insufferable weight
of invisible sins
on their backs and we worried
about our own suffrage.

we demanded to be seen
as strong
while refusing to let them be
seen.

we were coddled into submission,
baby-talked into babies,
and cried for our own injustices
back turned to our sisters
who needed us most.

and even now,
with this poem written in past tense
we still look passed the tension
yelling in our faces.

we chase after self,
celebrate “progress” in the name of
white accomplishments
and most belong in hell.

we ignore the truth of our history
hide behind the riveter
for stepping up to the jobs
that black women were already working.

inlay of shimmering white guilt
denial saves us from remorse because
voting is to a white woman what
blinders are to a horse.