The Unveiling of the Cloak

I wear the aberrant face of America.

My limbs, torso, and trunk are adorned
with brown skin that magically reflects
ultraviolet light,
though my skull,
encasing such great, gray matter is,
in fact, luminously permeable.

Cloaking spells are cast in hopes that I
become invisible. Hidden. Sequestered
from mindful illumination.

In the dark we flee the Indigo Coven -
they attack our flesh with flying
bottles of potions,
wielding powers of mass
destruction until we are eternally
hidden, vanquished, and made
incorporeal like our
ancestors.

The Indigo Coven made little Elijah drink
the elixir from the cauldron until
he became a roaming specter ...
watching as the ancestors
twisted in their chains
on the moors of the
Mississippi.
We quiver from the visions of gener -
ational cloaking,
until the sensation of rolling salt -
water trickles down our dark faces,
and the scent of burning
pearwood provokes our
amygdala.
The scorching embers from floating
balls of fire, and the staggering
welts on the skin of our ancestors
will never extinguish
our light.

Our skulls, which encase such great, gray
matter are, indeed, luminously
permeable,

and our tongues speak the language of
an uncloaked freedom - as WE
wear the faces of a disparate
America.