Collective Unrest

 

Seventy-First & Everybody Else

January 16, 2019

for Harith Augustus

My heart thuds the panic of a death sentence
kicking it into view, policeman on my television
flooding streets they call problems, their batons
bludgeons cudgeling bloody people screaming for
their lives, another neighbor toppled early to his
grave pierced by bullets shed by soldiers seeking
answers to their problems between the eyes of each
stranger they refuse to identify as someone like a
human, each bullet a missile a wound a curse carried
by hearses run weary, their engines worn from wheels
sinking from too many bodies harvested for proof

of burden, their lives the target on which officers
aim their guns, each an editorial on the definition of
who’s a person and who they call a hoodlum deemed
unworthy of each breath they need, air so jagged it
cuts their lungs into markers of medical indifference,
each gasp of air a struggle for survival against this
society’s imagination limited by shades they claim
they can’t see, so dark they attract triggers bursting
infinite ashes mothers mourn for the sake of a war
they call necessary — another word for murder —
the state a source of terror in which children grow
so restless, still waiting to shed the poisonous skin
of a nation killing them with each indignity, every
death a headline we weep into helpless throats
grown hoarse from so much crying — he only
wanted to live, just like everybody else.

 

Marilee Goad is a queer writer who attended the University of Chicago and has work published or forthcoming in Ghost City ReviewPeculiars MagazineOUT/CASTBone and Ink Press, and rose quartz journal. You can follow her on twitter @_gracilis and find her website at marileethepoet.tumblr.com.

Please follow and like us:
In category:
Newer Post

Thoughts & Prayers

Dear mother of solider number x, I know you kissed your boy good night, his face soft and yielding, woke up to a scraggly beard before you knew it, his age and yours numbers charted against a wall, expected and…
Read
Older Post

I don't know what to do

The limit of color is a vacuum sealed secret. The lighter the pigment, the darker the past actions, or so it seems. The skin reflects the opposite angles of these better angels we try To nurture in the cracked spines…
Read
Random Post

Attending College for The First 2 Years of Trump's America

I remember what it was like to be in college when Donald Trump was elected president of the United States in 2016. To be one of, if not the only black person in the classroom. It takes a toll on…
Read
Random Post

Mockingbird

#WalkUpNotOut invite that kid who sits alone to join your friends at the lunch table smile, say hi, break bread be kind. Kids can be for-real-mean nowadays I’m a teacher I know they’re good for all kinda shit-talkin and shenanigans…
Read
Random Post

The four times I spilled tea on my dress

The first time I spilled tea on my dress was when I first met you. I recognized you, a loner, and in your eyes I saw myself, a dreamer whose nights filled with images of ordinary life. I was wearing…
Read
Random Post

complacency

Is telling the age of silent film to keep tongue-tied at the rise of the talkies. Is expecting a shining staple not to resist the fanged dentition of the remover. Is demanding a rainbow not to mourn the movement of…
Read