Mrs Wei Wants To Believe The First Amendment

That letter telling your President he is wrong, please don't mail it! I am so afraid for you. Back home, such forthrightness will drag you to jail, your family will have to hide their name.

Or worse, a noose on the raintree, only the wind to keep your ghost company. Speaking out is like flying a kite, a banner for police to track you down.

In my country, we have learned to fly kites under the bed.

THE ISSUES (Rhodesia, 1978)

Just don't tell me about the issues. I can see the pale spider-belly head of the newborn who lies on the lawn, the web of veins at the surface of her scalp, her skin grey and gleaming, the clean line of the bayonet down the center of her chest. I see her mother's face, beaten and beaten into the shape of a plant, a cactus with grey spines and broad dark maroon blooms.

I see her arm stretched out across her baby, wrist resting, heavily, still, across the tiny ribs.

Don't speak to me about politics, I've got eyes, man.

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