I curse the pen my president used to sign that agreement in ’94
I curse the ink for not defying gravity that day
If it were not for his signature
My father would still have land
If it were not for that ink finding solace on that contract paper
My mother would still have her dignity
And perhaps my sisters would walk at night, feeling safer

Sometimes pens swallow up poems,
People’s homes, people’s hopes
And erase a people’s history
Sometimes pens break pledges, burn bridges,
Blind leaders and bind bodies to rubber bullets

Sometimes pens police poems
But I am learning that poems can also undo the violence of policies
I am learning that burning bridges is taught to people
I am burning the burden that comes with social constructs
And building my being from its ashes
I am learning to trust my pen
To continue to write my dead history into existence
I am learning that unlearning resurrects bridges