Freedom has walked across this country for decades
Making small indents in the dirt
That prove there is life
Human bodies made up of what has been done to them
Pushed into corners that label their faults
Their insecurities, pieces of them that are tied down
These steps leave no trace of freedom
Just desperation that begs and pleads on its knees
Now bloodied by the rocks they lean on
A dive bar in the desert
Neon lights against brown walls
Smells of sweat, scotch, and distance fill the room
Music sang by people who tell
Who decided freedom could be found
Resting at their feet in shackles
Ghosts dance in the middle of the room
There’s no difference between the ghosts
And the people who have given themselves to the idea
Only to realize lasting freedom comes from us
Freedom is just a word
Painted in gold
It’s the moment before we fall asleep
When it’s dark and silent, free
It’s moments of silence
When we give our ghosts space to dance
And we fight them
Each one labeled: shy girl, black man, white woman,
black woman, killler, lover, fighter, politician, man
What about human?
What about free people?
They dance with their shackles still on
Fading with every step
They aren’t shackled to each other
They are bound to the earth
To the crime they committed at 17
To the lover lost because he stopped holding our hands
To the music they listened to but never understood
What the musician was escaping from
They didn’t know he was African American
They heard his voice
The way his lyrics fill a room, weightless
The way his lyrics fill a room, concrete dreams
Of freedom spread over his lips
Instead of listening to what he’s saying
And freedom becomes desperation
Kiley Woods is a creative writing student at Eckerd College in Florida. She works as a news editor for the student newspaper, The Current, and as a volunteer reader for the Eckerd Review literary magazine. Her work has been published in Second Story Journal, Pomegranate Lit, Diet Water, Portals Magazine, and elsewhere.
Featured image by Matt Botsford on Unsplash
