When did we become lovers of the dead?
Where did we learn to sugar coat early deaths?
Supplanting the celebrations of life in order to
make room for celebrations of lives unfinished.
How did we teach you that there was value in
dying in a blaze of glory rather than encouraging
you to write your own story?
When did we learn to yearn for the touch of lifeless
limbs as opposed to the touch of another warm body?
How did we teach you to value a black man dead
more than one living and breathing? Who
taught us this bullshit?
Who taught you that the tears of a black mother
belong in a glass jar on a shelf in a closet? Why
must we hide our pain from the world?
Who taught you to mourn publicly the passing
currency of the death of another black body?
Who taught you to seek validation through the
collection of black bodies, the accumulation of
skeletons for the mass grave in your thoughts?
Do you not hear the voices wailing from the ground?
Or see the blood soaking the dirt under the silent
weight of the quiet love of dead black bodies?
Peace & Love,