The dead of COVID-19, all in one teardrop. Grief this morning with my coffee. Both are bitter, and I cannot put either one down.
If your skin is dark you might be killed in this country. Remember the rabbit that didn’t get away? Remember the dove whose song was so sad? There for a moment, then gone. Rubber bullets, lead bullets. Tear gas. Maybe a chokehold, or a knee on your neck; death without breath. A plea in your eyes when your voice has been silenced. Righteousness does not live here and it never did. Not for you. Justice is only a concept when it does not exist. If your skin is dark you might be killed in this country. People with pale skin will mutter that you had it coming. They’ve been muttering it for centuries.
“I died in 1960 from a prison sentence and poetry brought me back to life.”