REPARATIONS

Listen. Don’t you think it’s about time

the bank of justice made good on that check

that bounced; to take the boot off of the neck

of every Black young man; to see the crime

inherent in this social paradigm

that sends Black mothers to a lower deck

to give birth on a ship destined to wreck

like twig-frail craft sunk in a nursery rhyme.

Hear me. This is a sonnet about love;

a love so strong it permeates the past

and lifts torn timbers from the ocean floor;

love recognizing push has come to shove;

a love so bright it will no longer cast

long shadows from the lamp beside the door.