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

you don't want to remember

TW for sexual assault    you know by now you know character traits and character acting like a fool in love with yourself you sit alone lonely grayed voices call clear and you comeback why and ask why when by now…
Read
Random Post

two donkeys and a goat

women are worth so much; come with so much everyone knows the hero gets the girl, gets the dowry two donkeys and a goat and a warm wet place to bury your sorrow act now; a hot meal is worth…
Read
Random Post

Jason Can’t Take A Joke

*TW for sexual assault and abortion   First are the boxes from Burger King with the half-eaten Whoppers inside, the boxes that Jason shoves under the seats of his girlfriend’s cars because making them root out some unidentifiable rotting thing…
Read
Random Post

Sibyl

I will not sleep with you, so you curse me—not with venomous words or a mouth full of spit, but with malicious ambivalence, you do not speak at all.   I caress the dust in my hands, and you give…
Read