Untitled Poem for the Ancestors by Camaray Davalos

I am far from where I came from.
I would try to make a sound, but no one would hear me.
I would try to make a move, but no one would see me.
I don’t mind death; I was never afraid to die.
But now that I’m gone I’m afraid I’m forgotten;
Down in the basement of a museum,
Down among hundreds of boxes,
Down because no one seems to care that I am alive.
Maybe I’m not breathing…but I feel erased. And if my spirit feels something, doesn’t that mean I am still valid?
Still relevant ?
Still existing?
I fear I am truly gone if I am not remembered.
I am not content with being  a catalog number, used to satiate someone’s interest in science.
I am not content with being taken against my will by a stranger.
I am not content with being a pawn in the systemic genocide of my people.
I think one day someone will remember me. I will be claimed by my people, and justice will be served.
Justice will be peaceful,
Justice will be right,
Justice will be obligatory.

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