Pilot Light
A Journal of 21st Century Poetics and Criticism
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Letter to Gabriel Written in the Margins of Murder Ballads
(Continued from Page 3)
There’s no other way to say it:
I was built by slaves,
carved skin white-pined 
like sand and tobacco
and the Poteat name
that pulls me from you. 

Say the words
the fields would speak.

The bloodline stops
(Continue to Page 5)