In Ferguson, MO

I stand on the corner of Canfield and Clarion.

I search for a familiar car to drive me away.

It is cold; there is no car in sight,

And the wind cuts deep into my soul.

This place is unsettling;

The truth upsets me.

But there is still no car in sight,

And the wind cuts deep into my soul.

I came to remember things past,

And people lost.

But there is no car in sight,

And the wind cuts deep into my soul.

A middle-aged black man pulls

His black boy by the hand;

His wide eyes stare quizzically up at me.

I look, and there is no car in sight.

And the wind cuts deep into my soul.

I look to my right;

I spot a concrete staircase;

It descends into darkness;

There is no wind down there.

I do not know what is in there,

But there is no wind down there.

The shelter would protect me from this wind;

This:

Fede iska

Ukombozi upepo

Vent libérateur

Bevrydend wind       

I stand strong instead,

Remembering things past,

People lost.

There is no car in sight,

But I see a river in the distance.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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