I thought you said
“Some of us have taken off our wings”
You said “wigs”.
Or you misspoke.
Thought we were talking about angels.
But you were talking nappy heads covered —
We are all bald angels.
With stubby wings, bloodied.
Scalps give way to traction
A part of me longs to hear their crying.
Stranger’s screaming mimmicking my dying.
Try being my bald angel.