Prose

it’s in the blood and not the hand: the corrupt blood of great great grandmassa freret through great grandpa cleo and grandpa cleo and paps and then me; the empty hand to which grandmassa bequeathed some of his fortune to be stolen by his other (white) line under the law by which the court declared null and void the will and legacy to cleo because cleo’s mother grandmassa’s daughter was grandmassa’s slave, so the hand is empty -- empty of that fortune but not of that blade with which this disinherited one drew the same blood from three of the heirs of that other (all-white) line in the dark of one sweet morning in the same garden district mansion where grandmassa bed his house slave great great grandma mildred who then in the same mansion birthed the first cleo to whom was bequeathed the blood and the ultimately stolen fortune: hence the hand the blood the corrupt blood in these veins i let onto the floor of the block screaming “it’s in the blood! it’s in the blood!” and so they took away the blade and again the hand is empty and still the blood is corrupt