Makers

"I make you a box of darkness with a bird in its heart."
~ Terrance Hayes


Car and computer parts, a third
        of all firearms that wind up in
the hands of your hunters and school
        shooters. Buddha's yellow hand,
buddha's green apple lying at the bottom
        of the bin because none of you know
how to eat them. In factories, workers young  
        as sixteen bevel the edges of your
new smartphones. And in sweatshops, we
        push collar folds quick under
mechanized sewing needles. Who remembers 
        which plants make the indigo dye,
which the yellow? Our mothers taught us cool,
        clear water for the rinse. Winking
seed-pearls distract from the pains
        of our long labor. Sometimes
the labels include our names. Sometimes,
        we embroider a letter or cry for help.

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