Nine years old—
in the treacherous ivory coast,

sunrise to melt him away
with layers of chocolate rocks,

branches piercing his feet.
his frail body barely stands.

he’s skin and bones.
his legs sore with blisters on his feet.

cutting cocoa fruit from the trees
a machete and the weight of the world in his hands.

his sack can’t fall short two hundred weight.
one of many sons dipped in bitter chocolate,

centuries of deep cotton rooted in the dirt.
with watching eyes, he say goodbye—

he’s one of traveling sons unleashed into bondage.
bent over, picking, carrying bitter

chocolate that taste so sweet.
melted rich into a square bars with tainted blood of children—

no other reliable source of income.
he has to keep going,

before the whip kisses his back
and his light flickers out.