Grace Jin

and we unchain them from manifest destiny

​
stainless steel wire, organza, miner’s lettuce at the Stanford Mausoleum

2023

we march on, towards the end
a tomb built by ghosts haunting this land
take miner’s lettuce, sweat and blood their fertilizer

and caress the sprouts with scallion and ginger

after the blood dries and sirens hush
we bend guns and bullets with rice paper melt steel with ink and water
and wrap amputated memories in chiffon

the ghosts built machines of expansion, exclusion, extinction,

yet our soft shoulders carry their burden,
and we unchain them from manifest destiny
by tearing the tracks apart