Note: These poems are based off of protests that took place the weekend after the Breonna Taylor verdict.
Only a few
the Mexican consulate
in the name
of the forty-three
They are worried —
how many more
has the government
The sweat-studded woman’s megaphone voice
echoes into the squad car streets —
a dozen brothers and sisters in black
surround her, heads low for the murdered —
the silver-badged defenders chuckle
amongst themselves, turning occasionally
to spot a punch, or something.
“I’m tired of being silent,” cries the speaker,
her skin blue in the moonlight,
just Black in the cop-light.
The next morning,
in front of the picasso statue —
a towering, brown mammalian angel —
hundreds of Black and Brown bodies
gather to reach out
with hands full of fresh roses
towards one another
and towards the hundreds
of beloveds in heaven.
Header image by Phoebe Nerem