#BLACKLIVESMATTER

he was an empathetic poet, who saw romance and beauty in the sway of the hips -- through flaming skin and straining muscles

but he’s gone

she was an intelligent mother, calculating and warm -- she prayed and wore soft cotton on sundays

but she’s gone

she was beautiful, feet arched and muscles strained-- hair curled into the sweet blue swirls of heaven and the soft puffy clouds

but she’s gone

he was a caring father, with a contagious smile and pressed rough skin -- he was proud, careless and no one could resist the kindness and warmth of his hugs

but he’s gone

he would have been twenty yesterday, with a graduation cap splayed on a tall white wall and a full future ahead -- filled with graying and crinkles around his almost-shut eyes.

but he’s gone

he’ll never come back

and he was just a child. he was innocent. barely my age. charismatic and powerful. intelligent and articulate and prideful.

but he’s also gone.

and HIS skin is red, tough and angry. he’s cold and heartless, indulging and realizing and praying and languishing in the company of his loved ones. HER face is stretched with a doubtful smile; she’s able to relax at home and stretch her feet on a comfy sofa and kiss her husband’s cheek. she can turn off the sullen light as she admires her son’s sleeping face.

they’re still here.

alive and well and happy.