Hope

The police officer violently throws my hands back,

Forcing my face into the ground.

Stretching the length of my limbs and says,

“I see your son’s fate, and his son’s fate.”

That night in a cell the first apparition appears from a dent in my head

The scar heals into animosity, yielding to hate.

My community claws at the open wound with their words;

Extending the gash

We retaliate like wolves, against someone who has wronged their youth

I wake as the second of the apparitions arises from the gunshot wound

In my son’s head

A flower blossoms deprived of sunlight