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there is still not enough time (poem)

there is still not enough time

to pick apart the intricate pains of history,

to speak the names of the lost and forgotten.

even as crowds drift and handshakes slip,

there is still not enough room,

to lay bare the threads of past and power,

to heal from the constant erosion of oppression.

the world goes up in flame and there is still not enough warmth,

to kindle the grief of mothers and sons and warm the cold bodies of lost loved ones.

as if a phone screen can frame the truth and hurt in any human way.

there is never enough words to come close to convey

how much work we have still yet to do.