Police terrorism is real in this country. When I think of Tamir as his mother, the woman who gave birth to him, I wonder why my son had to lose his life in such a horrific way in this great place we call America. Response to “When I Think of Tamir Rice While Driving” That so many of my brothers already call their tomb.
#QUEST FOR INFAMY BANK SERIES#
They see into a grave & make home the series of cells Mother, kinfolk resist the temptation to turn everything To be haunted by the strength that lets Tamir’s father, But my mind is no sieve & sanity is no elixir & The memories, & that I could abandon all talk of making To a cell, disappears, and all I have stomach for is blood,Īnd there is a part of me that wishes that it would go away, Of my own, in the last photo I took before heading off To see a man die there is so much that has to disappearįor my mind not to abandon sanity: Tamir for instance,Ībout him, even as his face, really and truly reminds me That we erase in this American dance around death, as weĪre not permitted to articulate the reasons we might yearn The other brown people, Latinos & Asians & all the colors The black people who march, the white people who cheer, On crisp fall days & this is why I hate it all, the people The narrative must invite more than the children bleeding Of your child’s dignity, of his right to life, of his humanity,Īnd the crystalline brilliance you saw when your boys first Is a killer’s body mangled and disrupted by bulletsīecause his mind would not accept the narrative Of the fired pistol taboo: the thing that says that justice To you, the police officer who justifies the echo That touches the concrete must belong, at some point, Of taboo: if you touch my sons the crimson Of a black boy that the father cannot mention,īecause to mention the death is to invite discussion His black sons to school & the thing in the air is the death Of poetry, the moment when a black father drives I don’t say is that this should not be the brick and mortar Plays in my head, & for everything I do know, the thing In the backseat while the video of Tamir dying This: a child, a hidden toy gun, an officer that firesīefore his heart beats twice. Of a pistol when forced to confront death like That says my arms should be heavy with the weight Is a ruthless one, the pomp & constitutional circumstance Saying what should be said: the Second Amendment I think of Tamir Rice & shed tears, the weepingĪll another insignificance, all another way to avoid
Though my rhetoric is always about what I don’t Me warn them against playing with toy pistols,
Still not yet Tamir’s age, already having heard In the backseat of my car are my own sons, –Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and Captain Mark Kelly
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