The House that Slaves Built

(A Nursery Rhyme for Modern Times)

by Shavahn Dorris-Jefferson / October 26th, 2025

This is the house that slaves built.

This is the blood that anoints
the house that slaves built.

These are the hands that shed
the blood that anoints the house
that slaves built.

These are the scars that map
the hands that shed the blood that anoints the house that
slaves built.

These are the eyes that behold
the scars that map the hands that shed the blood that
anoints the house that slaves built.

This is the bruise, still swollen and sore, that blackens
the eyes that behold the scars that map the hands that shed
the blood that anoints the house that slaves built.

This is the man, a divisive boor, that bumps the bruise, still swollen
and sore, that blackens the eyes that behold the scars
that map the hands that shed the blood
that anoints the house
that slaves
built.

This is the clan on the senate floor
that props up the man, a divisive boor, that bumps the bruise,
still swollen and sore, that blackens the eyes, that behold
the scars that map the hands
that shed the blood that anoints the
house that slaves built.

This the voice, a blossoming roar, that worries
the clan on the senate floor that props up the man, a divisive boor,
that bumps the bruise, still swollen and sore, that blackens the eyes
that behold the scars that map the hands that
shed the blood that anoints the house that slaves built.

This is the beast
democracy bore that raises
its voice, a blossoming roar, that worries the clan
on the senate floor that props up the man, a divisive boor,
that bumps the bruise, still swollen and sore, that blackens
the eyes that behold the scars that map
the hands that shed the blood that anoints the house that slaves built.

This is the nation, silent no more, that nurses the beast democracy
bore that raises its voice, a blossoming roar, that worries
the clan on the senate floor that props up the man, a divisive
boor, that bumps the bruise, still swollen and sore, that blackens the eyes
that behold the scars that map the hands that shed the blood that anoints
the house that slaves built.

Shavahn Dorris-Jefferson’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Master’s Review, Rattle, New Ohio Review, Off Assignment, Painted Bride Quarterly, Cimarron Review, Carve Magazine, Salamander, The Baltimore Review, Sugar House Review, and other journals. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best American Essays, and Best New Poets. She received an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts and is the former co-poetry editor for The Maine Review. Shavahn lives in Frankfort, IL with her husband, Alvin, and son, Alvin Jr. Read other articles by Shavahn.

This article was posted on Sunday, October 26th, 2025 at 8:00am and is filed under Poetry.