The bullet grazed my leg
Just a flesh wound
Was it my fault
Did I instigate
Inflammatory vitriol
Should I apologize for my
Free associations
The way my pen glides
Across the page to the core
Of dissension
Perhaps it was my skirt
Was it too tight, too short
Hugging the curves
Of my body
Making you hot and thirsty
The freedom of Alvin Alley
Dancers with their legs
Spread
Opening the flow
For free expression
Dancing to the voice
Of Maya Angelou
The seekers, the marchers
The painters, the writers
All refugees like me
