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Author: 
Edited by Aisha
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my teachers didn't teach me
many things
my teachers didn't teach me
the African ways
of breaking the storm on my body,
or pushing back the waves from
washing away my dreams

my teachers didn't teach me
the African ways of diving into water

in Connecticut, a friend dies of cancer
I break into pieces like a glass
that hits a rock
like the voice of a mother whose four sons
burn keeping their origin away from fire
andchris holds my body
against the sun
against the moon
against crops of December lights

because he thinks my body is pankrit
my body isn't the accent of love
he thinks it's not African to be human
it's not African
to jump into water and drown

in Connecticut, Jibril is murdered
for being a way finder beyond the waters of his country
for smiling in Arabic
to a woman who stops him to say
a million stars glow in his eyes
when he looks at tomorrow

I bury him
under the debris of my dilapidated body
andchris holds my body
against the sun
against the moon
against crops of light

because he thinks it's not African to be human
it's not African to jump into water and drown.

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