I am from wide-toothed combs / pulled through tangled hair. / I am from rumbling yellow school buses
High potassium? / How did this happen so fast? / Secret burrito.
Yet another Black man murdered. / I am not Black, I am not White, but I am American. / We were established on the idea of a collective “we” — we, the people, despite creed or color.
A mourning sun cries as she tucks away / the night to uncover red and blues / lumps of fabric and skin on gritty sand below.
There’s so much more to do, / there’s so much more to say, / I just hope we can change / and create a new way.
Am I essential? / A med student waiting for change, / inundated with facts and figures. / Am I just in the way?
I agree that protesting is best done in peace, / But wasn’t that tried by taking a knee? / Or hashtags that said Black Lives Matter, / And praying that change would come with the chatter.
I stand for justice and peace; / I stand for equity alongside equality. / I stand until the hate crimes cease.
Tonight, there are families who will go to bed / Without having eaten dinner. They will slip / Through sheets of faded blue, stained with
“I still feel the same,” she says / after three weeks of ECT. / Monday / Wednesday / Friday —
We’re now all online / but you’re still in person. / As things progress / they just seem to worsen.
Pressed for time, the report shall be quick to conclude: For eight minutes and forty-six seconds, Mr. Floyd could not breathe with a knee on his neck, and thus met his untimely, unconscionable death.