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America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves. – Abraham Lincoln

Sometimes, you cannot fully convey what you think, unless you share what you feel.  And sometimes structured prose doesn’t give you the space to be as expressive as you want.  So in homage to the form and the story; this is my response to the Trayvon Martin verdict.

Sybrina’s Grief                        

Her distress didn’t register

Her pain didn’t warrant despair  

The grace with which she bared her loss

Was not a reality the masses could share

His callous questioning

Before a woman who had just heard her son’s final cries

Was not tempered by the audience watching

Judgment in their eyes

Assumptions on their mind

A jury of mothers

Witnessing, but not seeing

The war wounds of her womb

Silent tears for the flesh and blood

Ripped from her arms

Sold down river

Raped with impunity

Strewn from noose ties in trees

Bloated bodies dredged up from rivers

Shackled in handcuffs

By joblessness

By school suspensions

And under performing schools

And deadly suspicions

Bleeding on concrete pavements 

Prey

For a system that needed her babies’ bodies

And discounted their souls

But marred the story

By painting a nation’s shame

On their identity

Labelled him a threat

Her a whore

And an unfit mother

Because they’re killing her sons

And when she cries out

“None, but Jesus hears her.”

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