«They Want Me Dead»

They paint the ceilings with the refuse
of the long since passed
until they’re camouflaged in heartache
My mother warned me not to leave
without my shadow cast
Because my shadow is my namesake

They pick the fruit from
the lowest branches
Bite the stem off and spit in my face
Their words like parachutes, gently
falling all around me
And detonate with valor and grace