That demimonde of Africa
where there is no grey and
no asylum where refuge can
be found, the rites given to

make pure, acceptable, that
which is rejected, the albino,
those so unlike myself, all
who see them say, except

perhaps a mother, who loves
the child and sees herself
reborn, an offering of oranges
to angry gods, who have

created this transgression of
the skin, the flesh, the image
where the blackness is denied
by pure, white, shining other,

which society will not embrace,
because the difference is too
stark, alarming and wants
only to push from sight –

that demimonde of Africa.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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One Response to Albino

  1. julespaige says:

    Why does there always have to be such a separation of what is natural.
    I remember reading a fiction piece where perhaps that first Albino was birthed and the mother continually covered the child with mud…in an attempt to keep him safe.

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