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Mon Aug 10, 2020, 10:05 AM

A poem for Michael Brown

For Brother Love

By littlemissmartypants


I watch you sleeping

As UNC KD broadcasts super readers

The thunder outside warns me

Begs me

Warns me

Don't be calm

The lights flash lighting

Like the flash of the gun

That left him on the ground

You groan

You not grown

You sweet little man

My baby brother love

Skin shining from the cocoa butter after your bath

The boy died.

Dead as
you alive

Still
You sleep
He
gone to his eternal rest

The flash as bad as a lightening strike

He was struck

But not once

again and again and again and again

Again you say to me as we get to the end of the

Book you love
That says I love you...

I wash your little black feet

And super reader says
"when something seems bad
Turn it around and find some good"

Brains

Something seems bad

Feet

Turn it around

On the streets and running

You chase the cat and squeal

And find something good

And say
I love you Mi woksee baby

And I say
I love you too brother love

And your precious little black hands

Hold up your sponge bob bookbag

Mi woksee baby

I don to stool ma wah

That
Sweet Baby speech

victim
of those missing front teeth

That smile

Going to school.

Oh God if you are there

Tomorrow when his hand leaves mine

I will stand outside and scream.

Tonight

While a dead young man lies cold

His brain removed by gunfire

The thunder rolls

And

I

weep.


●■●■●■●■●■●■●■●■●■
RIP Michael Brown
May 20, 1996 August 9, 2014

●■●■●■●■●■●■●■●■●■
Cross posted from the Writing Group
https://www.democraticunderground.com/12021367

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Reply A poem for Michael Brown (Original post)
littlemissmartypants Aug 10 OP
SaveOurDemocracy Aug 10 #1

Response to littlemissmartypants (Original post)

Mon Aug 10, 2020, 11:15 AM

1. Vivid and heartwrenching.

As a white woman and mother, I can only imagine the fears a black mother feels when a precious boy child is placed in her loving embrace. The fears for his future and his safety every time he leaves her side as he grows and becomes independent.

My love, sorrow and respect to all the beautiful black mothers of all the beautiful black sons, some of whom, the statistics tell us, they will bury before their time.

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