They get tired of hearing it.
Ain’t nobody got to say it,
I know that they get tired.
Tired of these distractions in brown-colored skin
waking up from Valley’s
with muscles and tendons
all conscious-like.
Uncovering the blood in the American Flag—
Tired, tethered, and intoxicated
with his story.
Unraveling the color of bigotry on a beautiful glass,
Smeared fingerprints and fallen stars like
Why they keep sittin’ in?
Between our comfort and a hard place.
America,
This be some kinda hard place
for brown-colored skin
in the springtime.
Strange fruit popping up again on trees,
‘cept Nina ain’t here to sing us a song.
After 400 years
songs just don’t work anymore.
Tired of these guns accidentally going off,
Landing somewhere in my purse.
somewhere in my womb.
Somewhere in my future between lipstick and foundation.
I’ve got to warn my sons
about accidental guns.
Generational homicide got me on my knees praying
the badge
ain’t got his name on it.
Let’s be accurate about it.
Will I be left with the fragmented
pieces of my husband’s shoes
between our front porch and the living room floor?
Will my kiss linger long enough to bring him home tonight?
Or will I suffer a widow’s fate of mistaken identity?
After all, these brown, tan, bronze, and mahogany-colored
skins all do look the same…
Don’t they?
I’m afraid of your guns.
They don’t know the difference
between friend and foe–
or maybe, they do.
Funny how bullets be mistakin’ themselves for judges
that ain’t got names on them.
They say a gun
ain’t got a name on it.
Why are they sugar-coating it?
‘Cause people get tired of hearing about all this black…
All this oppression,
All these curses,
All this power like,
Why we won’t pour sugar on top of these bodies?
Get ’em up off the street.
Don’t want our bullets to get stirred up, ya know.
Getting up outta beds,
loading themselves into chambers
and taking walks at night,
in the afternoon, and especially in the morning,
when it’s springtime.
Fun Fact: I first wrote this poem four years ago (almost to the day). Reposting because it is still fitting for today’s climate. You can find it in my I am Soul poetry collection.
The PBS Blog 
Wow! This is so powerful!
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I turned on my sound system this morning, put in on random play and the haunting voice of Sam Cooke swept over me, singing ‘I was born by the river, in a little tent and just like the river, I’ve been running ever since…’ , you know the song and you wonder, is it true, anymore, ‘cos it’s been a long, long time coming’
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Very powerful song.
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Probably the best version, too, in my opinion. It’s full of pain and bitter memory but tempered with a questioning spark of hope
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Hope indeed. I do believe that a change will come. In fact, its on its way 🙂
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I HOPE you’re right, Yecheilyah, but there are signs, regretfully, of storms to come
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Oh yes. You’re right on that one. There is always war before peace.
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unfortunately, again. This communication is useful. I’m writing a short story based on the Wednesday Writer’s Quote prompt, which, this week is ‘Fantasy.’ I’ve never written science fiction, but I’m basing this story on David Bowie’s Starman.
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Hmm, interesting. I hope that your writing endeavors go well!
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just posted the first installment , let me know what you think, https://dermotthayes.com/2016/05/04/starman-life-on-trappistone/
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Excellent. I will.
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I think I just responded to the wrong comment lol. But thank you for the link. I’ll sure take a look.
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I don’t think you did, but thank you, anyway
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Heck! This is good!! Woke me up
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Thank you :).
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Fantastic poem. Also, I can’t receive the amazon gift of Stella 1 because they say I can’t have it in this country, the UK. Weird? Can you let me know in an e-mail what might have happened? xxx
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Thank you and oh wow. Let me check on that for you. I will email you.
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❤
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