Thursday, August 01, 2013

Blood On The Grass (for Trayvon Martin)

Close your eyes
and listen--
Can you hear it?
It’s the cry of yet another Rachel,
weeping for her children,
and refusing to be comforted;
it echoes 
in the cry of Sybrina Fulton,
and Wanda Johnson;
it reverberates even still
from Mamie Till Mobley,
now since departed 
and reunited
with her beloved
and taken-too-soon Emmitt;

can you hear it?
the collective cries
of scores of mothers
who will never see their sons
grow old,
never fall in love,
or pursue their dreams;

you might just also hear
the cries
of blood from the ground--
cries for justice,
justice that may never come,
because we choose not to listen;
choose to keep our eyes closed
to the fact that our children
are dying needlessly,
and with little
to no recourse.
I’ve heard it said,
that it would be better
if a millstone
was hung around the neck
of one who were to cause 
a little one to stumble;
and yet,
perpetrators are allowed to roam
trampling underfoot,
blood left on the grass,
having ignored screams 
for mercy;
while we care more for the child not yet born
than for the one who is already
among us.

I want you to open your eyes
and imagine,
that it was your son,
your daughter,
your brother,
your sister,
pleading for their lives,
begging for mercy,
crying for help,
for justice.
What would you do then?
What would you do?
What will you do?

© 2013 Joseph Powell

No comments: