"Mike Brown"

“Mike Brown”

On the way

up the hill

this particular morning

as I watched 

the trees, they 

seemed to bloom

before me, and 

the light, the 

light that glistened

off the concrete 

Jungle buildings: Bright

Then disappointment seeped

in, through the 

Ala wrapped around 

my collar bone 

tears welled up 

inside my “I 

want to be 

someone’s mother, Place”, 

that brown boys 

body, laid in 

the street for 

hours a modern 

version of strange 

not swinging from 

the trees for 

fruit: Now

For the world 

to examine, while 

his mother whales 

out in unexplainable 

pain, thats unexplainable

BREATHE

Anger is the 

cousin to disbelief

and then fear

the world around

is a tad 

bit numb to 

it all, I 

think someone said

it was a 

“regular day in 

America” par for 

the course of

a young college 

bound black man

walking across the 

street, around the

corner from the 

scene of the 

“supposed crime”: Lies

We all as 

a nation desperately

like night time

prayers need to

take a deep

soul penetrating 

BREATHE

Breathe

Small inhales of 

air, made wind

please it’s free

take a BREATHE

Picture Images of 

humanity laid around

the world show

breathless mommies running

to displace grandma's

pushed out by

memories, memories that 

causes the chest 

to recoil and 

push childhood memories

to the surface

a surface that 

has not been

wiped down in 

years, childhood memories

where life is 

a fading scope

of childhood maturation

they have been 

to afraid to 

live, 1948 is

the beginning of 

what seems like 

the end for 

them then: Now.

Watching her try

and muster the

words about her 

son, whose life 

was made to be 

less than his

made my “I 

want to be 

someone’s mothers place”, 

normal breath escape

it 

Shrink a bit 

pleading with the 

four elements Breath

to let my 

children live: Breath

Praying for eight 

generations of breath

to come we 

all took a 

breath

Black men matter

Breath

Black women matter

Breath

to the black family

Breathe

A family your

father tried to

choose to not

let me have 

because you have 

made all us 

to be considered

unimportant…

We built this 

city on the 

blood sweat and 

tears, of our

fathers before us 

and built the 

sweat of my 

mothers 

plights so many

have forgotten to 

think 

On the way 

up the hill

that when the

sun glistens then

it is just

waiting to be 

heard, that my

block is not

in “bloom” that

the “I” in 

“we” are closed 

off. We like

the things that

look unfamiliar to

you but are 

the fabric of 

how I’ve been

taught to move

Breathe

A breath that 

is so hard

to uncover

when for years

 you have done 

everything in your

power to help

elevate me from 

the power inside 

of my bloodline

we all took 

generational 

breaths

Today walking up

the hill, the 

buildings seems to 

move to and 

fro like leaves

changing on the 

trees no more

strange fruit dangles

it now acts

as moving targets

for fear to 

seep in an 

settle its self

at times like

this I can’t 

seem to find

more than three

or four letter

words to explain

to the charges

in my charge

Child that on 

that day in 

history that man

who coulda been

and may have

been a suitor  

for a woman

who was starting

her life just 

might have lost

her….reason, her 

escape from her

personal prison…NO

way to explain 

the very notion

of BREATHE

that left his 

body right there, 

it stopped right 

there, short, of 

there is no 

shoulda or coulda 

or even woulda 

to the story… 

he played God 

that day.

So I will

play Goddess, and

Omi tutu, his

and their confused

souls and shout 

their names as 

if it were 

and ole negro 

spiritual, play sweet

songs to welcome 

them home to 

greener pastures

breath

God of our 

weary years, 

God of our 

Silent tears

Open the roads

on the other 

side for their

life meant more 

than a lose of 

BREATHE

Eric Garner

BREATHE

John Crawford

BREATHE

Ezell Ford

BREATHE

Dante Parker* 

BREATHE

Mike Brown

BREATHE….

*not pictured