The Red Man And The Face In The Mountain Poem by Indigo Hawkins

I have been thinking of all the bodies that could be mine,
of each face we claim and put to shame and how we blame
one another. I have been thinking
of all the people who could be
red (how many
am I?) and all those who live
in dread
without
an iron curtain
to crouch behind.
Stripped
of reserve, no longer
permitted
personal
private
pride
exposed
full frontal,
this position
is not exciting - just
assault, would you
call it just?

When I ask,
your face is stone.