Woolen moans spread over a Mingus blue night;
Black hands rub
over trash fires, winter’s lamp
beneath grieving skies where prayers
from the lynching rope still go to die
The genie has committed suicide
her ashes fill sockets
meant to hold eyes
all of her wishes
turned justice denied
It is harder to dance than it has ever been,
and most necessary at this time.
Emmett, your face
your memory
buried alive
a scalding silence attempts to erase you
as the sanitized iconic
are held up to replace you
Who will hold up
your dream?
How many mother’s wombs carry your tomorrows?
Divided nation
seethes in divination
of a new civil war
absent of all civility
there is no liberty
when you’re born into society that hates
the very thought of you
sanity unhinged with every cringe
at the sound of three simple words:
Black Lives Matter
Who will dare to feel the wild raging
slashes burning into your hated flesh
for the audacity of being born Black?
Who will dare to hear
you again and again and again?
It is harder to march than it has ever been,
and most necessary at this time.
The bullets
the cuffs
the beatings
the nightstick rape
arson’s flames
Four little girls
in church clothes carry embers
to light your way.
America,
you are a disappointing lover;
A wild drone built for darkness.
Your name embeds into my mouth.
With fractured hands I rip you out:
I scream
I howl
I shout
Black Lives Matter.
To Stand.
To March.
To Dare.
To Rise.
To Know
it isn’t just
that Justice is Blind.
It is harder to march
to dance
to sing
to shout
to defy
to create
to exhume
truth from lie
and most necessary at this time.
