Imperialism
Mayumi Olivar

They come without knocking
to trample over the hour:
loud voices, gospel opinions.
They look at you
like they've got you figured out.

What is this ground you take
for granted?
It belongs to itself
but we have cut it up and held
it hostage.

They come like angels descending:
white smiles and open hands
you mistake for sincerity.
They own you
and you know that they know
that you know.

Where have the people gone?
They have reduced us, you and you
and me and you,
into little boxes they shelve
beside their guilt.
We are tidied away by history

that is willfully blind.
Here, I want to stand and shout
Here I am. Don't count me out.

I exist outside of history books and jokes.
I am not dead yet but I feel like a ghost.