drift

they still whisper her name like it’s dangerous. but this isn’t a whisper. it’s a scream, wheatpasted to brick. marie-josèphe angélique—enslaved, accused, executed. not for a crime, but for refusing to live quietly in a world built to crush her.

je me souviens, they say. but they don’t mean her. they mean the colony. they mean the order she tried to set fire to.

this paper will peel, fade, dissolve into dust. but she was never paper. she was kindling. and we’re still burning.

#tiohtiàke #refusals #traces #blackness #surfaces #fragments