My Last
Malika Bailey

This is the last -
the last screw
sealing the barrier
between my truths
and your lies.

The last vowels stuttered
out of ashen lips
too afraid to confront
the violation of my rights.

But it is not the last
ounce of love I hold
for it trickles steady
as a stream
                     flowing

down

into the Orinoco Delta,
where the disregarded -
honeyed remnants of me,
settle in the wetlands.

This is the last time
I lay bare for the minimum
because this last hour
I promised myself that my worth,
like those of my ancestors
whose flesh became stocks
on a market so grim,
has a price that can’t be bought
and was molded within me -
to last.