by Alyssa Rafferty
I pour a cup of coffee
In a suburb built on top
of an unmarked grave
I drive to work
Memorials for the trail of tears
A small blue plaque on top of a post
Barely bigger than a playing card
I open the store
A van packed with workers
Come in speaking their
Native language quietly
They cover their faces before they leave
I sit with the weight
of our nations crimes
behind me
With the evidence
Staring me in the face
Everyday
I pour a cup of coffee
Alyssa Rafferty is a writer.
