When the state decides to murder its
next black child
Do not go gentle
Do not hold hands and sing we shall overcome
Do not turn the other cheek
Pray but remind them of the shotgun in your throat
Tell them there will be no more
Do not tell the mother everything will be okay
It will not
Her chest will be an empty rum Barrel
a broken whiskey bottle
And over some gospel song she will manage to go on
Black folks seem to always do but honestly who should have to go on like this
The father will try to be strong
He will fight back tears in public
He will cry in a back room or in a basement or somewhere else safe like that
He will probably fall asleep listening to Donnie or Roberta or Nina or someone else safe like that reimagined the vigils
Think about the irony and cutting down yet another flower to honor that child's
beautiful memory
Pay close attention to when the state says this is a time for peace
They are admitting when they fired
the gun it was clearly a time of war
Do not go gentle
Do not go into that night
Pray but remind them of the shotgun in
your throat
Become the monster they always thought you were
Show them your fangs
Your claws
Your anger
The pain
The rage
The hurts this hurts it hurts
When the state decides to murder its next black child remind them of the whips
Of the chains
Of the church bombings
Of the lynching
The four little black girls
Remind them of the white hoods
The burning crosses
Dogs and water hose
A police batons
Remind them of the shotgun
And all the ways this hurts
