A-minor

by Lea Marshall

A Zen koan asks, What was your face before your parents were born?

My face was tree roots, a snail shell. My face was a million years
of tides, like yours. My face was cardinals in Virginia grass.

My face was land theft. My face was enslaved Sarah Jane’s
suffering when my great- great- great- great-grandfather
reached for her again.

My face was his wife’s strong hands and stifled sobs
slowly turning her heart to a nest of snakes she would pass
to her children one by one. My face was the innocence
of those children before they took the teachings as their own.

In my great- great- great-grandfather’s pocket at Appomattox
was my face in his clenched fist standing next to Lee signing
the instrument of surrender. My face was their shame at losing
the war. My face was their relief. My face is all our eyes and
what we choose to see.

Lea Marshall’s poetry is forthcoming in RiseUp Review and The Ecopoetry Anthology Volume III. She was recently named a finalist for the Graybeal-Gowen Prize for Virginia Poets, and for Diode Editions’ 2023 Book Contest. Her poetry has appeared in failbetter, BOAAT Journal, Linebreak, Unsplendid, Hayden’s Ferry Review, B O D Y, Diode Poetry Journal, Thrush Poetry Journal, Broad Street Magazine, and elsewhere.