by A. Van Jordan
“…I am dead.
Thou livest; report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.”
Hamlet Act 5, Scene 2
the body’s shadow
had much to say,
but no one in ear shot
understood its language
~
the clouds stood heavy,
and when the cops confronted the body…
~
the boy showed his prowess to indulge in play,
just one of his many gifts,
which scared onlookers
~
no black man appeared in the park,
just a child, just people judging him
~
as he approached,
she wondered how she’d explain him
to her father
~
the opportunities for joy
presented themselves
in more colors than the boy
could name, so he chose black,
enjoying them all
~
passersby who laughed at him
showed their gratitude by memorizing his face,
then by wielding his visage whenever
they found themselves in a jam
~
was his laughter a declaration
of his joy or a sacred prayer
offered over poor souls resigned to their fate
~
corn chips, black licorice, marbles,
plastic pellets, toy gun, jaw breakers,
bubble gum: crushed apogee of memory
~
when he imagines knowing then what he now knows,
he imagines dying before his time
~
a jar of preserved pears,
canned by his grandmother,
occupies his mind. When he gets home…
~
a man beats a drum in courtship to his beloved…
nah, a boy dribbles a basketball,
boasting of his youth
~
a saga took place in the mind of the police,
as they glimpsed the black child,
who was caught smiling as he walked toward them
~
his sister’s scream, pulled
from a well too black to ring shallow,
echoes whenever his name …
Poem copyright 2022 by A. Van Jordan. All rights reserved.
See two more poems from A. Van Jordan debuted on The Fight & The Fiddle: “Bored, Tamir Chooses to Dream,” and “Hex”
Read more in this issue: Interview | Critical Essay | Writing Prompt