poetry
1 min
Ode to an African Violet
Evan Smith
You used to be
wild and free
now you're inanimate
living commodity.
Put on a shelf,
crying for water,
screaming for air,
begging for sun.
You've never seen Africa but that's your label
it sits there like smoke on a river
hanging like a plume of ash
a spewing volcano cloaking the sun.
That word; African
it makes you special.
Separates you from the weeds
to be sprayed and mowed
You are so cherished.
But you've never seen Africa
Why are you special?
It isn't a lie, it isn't the truth
You're no brighter purple
than the weeds under foot
free and naive, invasive and hated
You are spared for one word.
You are special for one word.
You're still special to me without that word.
It saves you from murder
but kills you from neglect.
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