Because She Taught Me How to Cope With Things

Tiptoeing

for my mother

when your voice became afraid, and sawed itself

in half, worried that the pain would

seep through its timbre

I would peel off the bandaged layers of my sleep,

keep one ear lifted, up off the pillow, firmly

attuned to sounds from your bed

I needed to hear the steady breathing.

there are attributes the heart uses to

mend itself.  wisdom becomes salve and

strength, an adhesive.

You were always busy, taping self together again.

Many nights, I’d tiptoe

from my bed, towards the shadows, stick

cheek to cold door and listen

for your tears.  But I could tell

you were not really crying.  You were refilling

those things that had drained

To What We Both Buried

Chthonic

we buried in this dirt

a love we couldn’t shake

and are haunted by the

memories,

they keep on screaming

the spirit of that union

moans beneath the surface,

most days

I long to run to it

until I recall, how I ran

and you willingly released me,

depositing our love

into the grave

of your belly

some things are apt to die,

and others go more

begrudgingly 

It Is Time We Listen

Plea, to My People

we are open pediment

missing our base,

struggling to discover where

we lost foundation

we are mirrored woes,

staring us in the face,

yet this countenance of sorrow

hasn’t united generations

we are two wrong turns

and two left shoes,

always stumbling upon ourselves,

still going in circles

but there comes a time

to wake up and move on,

remembering all the moments

when we were treated as sediment

left to drift off, or

left to burn, expected

to drown in our own undoing,

our truth

was in the way that we’d rise

Because Sometimes, Silence is a Cop-Out

At first, I wasn't going to write anything about Troy Davis.  If you've been black in America, or underprivileged, or poor, then it's an ongoing current that has flowed throughout the years.  Sometimes, you don't want to even think about it.  But not thinking has never made anything go away.

I was impressed by the outcry from people like me, who feel that injustices like these cannot go without reprieve.  I long for a day of accountability, or even more for a day when things like this will cease to be.  If you're confused by what I been let me clarify:  The state of Georgia killed a man.  A man who they couldn't prove had done anything wrong.  Even through a cloud of doubt, with witnessing recanting their statements, they decided that Troy Davis needed to die.

What does that say about America?  This so called land of freedom and justice for all.  A few nights ago, I embarked on a journey, to witness some of the monuments that symbolize the freedom of this land.  I recall while being at the Jefferson Memorial, reading something that made me think.

Those familiar with these words, know that they are a combination of key phrases from the Declaration of Independence.  Most of us are equally aware that when this document was drafted, those like myself, Troy Davis, and far too many others, were not taken into consideration.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal..."

Unless you are black, or poor, or any other minority that causes discomfort to our unsympathetic majority.  Then you are baggage.  An easily dispensable casualty.  

I don't know what happened on the night that the off-duty police officer was killed.  All I know it that Troy Davis maintained his innocence.  That seven of the eyewitnesses signed affidavits recanting all or some of their testimony.  I know that the state of Georgia has granted clemency to other men, white men, who have confirmed their guilt and had physical evidence tying them to the crime.  But for Troy Davis, no such clemency came.  I am touched by one of his final statements, but saddened by the truth that lies within it:

“The struggle for justice doesn’t end with me. This struggle is for all the Troy Davises who came before me and all the ones who will come after me. I’m in good spirits and I’m prayerful and at peace. But I will not stop fighting until I’ve taken my last breath.” - Troy Daivs, September 20, 2011

There will be more Troy Davises.  As long as we live in a country that still refuses to accept the words it was founded upon.  There is still no justice.  True freedom is marginalized to a few.

I am Troy Davis.  And that makes me doubtful of the future.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet