Supernovas don’t die

I cried for a black boy today…

And those tears, ever flowing…

Dripping down,

down the silky blood splattered leaves

Bonded and braided in browns and greens and red…

Red. SO red with the passion of our laughs? Our essence..bolstering, reverberating, aching from belonging.

I sat at work,

I sat at home,

and I can’t get away…

I can’t get away from the different shades of brown and black

and bright marigold smiles telling stories only mourning families now hold legend.

I see these same faces, different places

On the news

Echoes of pulsating cries, the same stream of unforgiving tears

In the street

Black limbs thought of as puppets,

each piece disconnected and scattered on the pavement, almost blending in.

In the home

Sobbing confused with moans muffling the mellow music of joy this house once owned.

I am not a mother but I’ve been her

I am not a father but I’ve seen him

I ain’t no kin.

But why?…

Then why am I always crying for these same brown faces

that haunt my heart with trauma never seen?

But I will not weep for this marred land

For it is not mine, but ours

It owes us too much!

Distinctly from the depraved hands and curt mouths

always questioning and pestering

Touching and feeling,

“ooh’ing and aww’ing”

Cooing and cawing

Ripping and gnawing!

Where do these stars land?

Do they pace the planets or drift?

Should they explode and cause a rift?

No, they don’t.

They remain high

Still. Valorous. Heavy and purposeful…

…in all that is black and all that is beautiful.

High above skies…and eyes.