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Through my fingers, as I kneel to splash my face in the creek, figures in stripes bend in labor over rake and hoe in the field.
Unrelenting furrows confirm the ache of forever in the inmates’ minds. Indelible black stripes slash white shirts and pants disarranging hope, crossing out any advent of aid or mercy.
In files at sundown, they are spent, rigid, mostly black, their lives abraded by the uniform stripes as surely as the creek erodes the stones beneath.
(original)
From the distance of the creek the figures rise like tiny zebras; they stand on hind legs and move their front legs in lethargic rhythm.
Unrelenting, the furrows explore distance, like the ache of a confirmed forever that lacerates the minds of the inmates here, hoes in hand, white caps, shirts and pants slashed hard with indelible black stripes that disarrange hope. Marked so, the sky won't send down, soon, any aid or mercy.
They stand in files at sundown, they are spent, rigid under the threat of the captain’s whip. They are mostly black, and the uniform stripes abrade their lives as surely as the currents of this creek erode the stones beneath.
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