By Lindsay MacDonald
An erasure poem, constructed from the pages of The Autobiography of Malcolm X.
In their eyesight we were just things: a Welfare check, tomatoes, white rabbits in a trap, a big pot of dandelion greens, some small-minded children would tease us, we ate "fried grass". If we were lucky we would have cornbread at night. we were always in the sack, deterioration of pride: more bread than meat. They acted as if they owned us, but we would lie quiet until bullfrogs appeared.
Copyright MacDonald 2015