March 11, 2013
You lost me at the first line. But, hooked me in to read another. Then, shut me out to slam my teeth on your fist of brick and mortar. I smiled through the blood and broken teeth. Giggled really, when you pushed me to my knees. I’d felt enough but, then again, I didn’t try to understand. Now you see—you’ve done your job admirably. You took a brute by the scruff of his neck and instead of drowning him, you put a mirror to his face. Water has that quality for men: it is the place of death. By death regained a different face and name. Regained then or remembered enough to shake. So in the water they can cry again. Tracks on faces like a fountain pen. Writing first the memories on their Skins. Hides wiped clean of memory until Only the black man cries black tears and they are whipped and bent into shape. Now many many are locked in chains. Now they are stamped on the pearly gates. Right now I’m found because they fished me from the water and bludgeoned my brains onto the books. Right now I remember more than you.