…in response to the past few weeks especially Alton Sterling
by Candrice Jones
I thought about deleting Facebook
But, that would be cheating myself of
the cognizance I am privileged to.
At least, now, we get to know.
Before, Black bodies would fall and not make a sound.
I’m seeking gravity on my timeline
The hashtag that can bring the world
to its reckoning.
We play God flooding facebook as if our pleas are wrath. (yeah right)
We’re at the point of begging now.
Attempting to rinse mankind education they could only get at home.
What charity is this?
We ask for empathy, and get bodies in return.
We’ve been trying to communicate with whiteness every since we learned it.
We face over and over our words are nothing but static
stars burning bright, black and white, shitting up the screen.
I don’t know much about Ramadan
Except it is an ideal that creates a space for holy gathering
And holy clusters have become meeting places for death
My friend, Saira, posted about the light of the holiday
Though she knew it shone on horror. Her testimony is her resistance.
From my couch I can pause moan,
Then press on to laughter.
Barack serenades “Happy Birthday” to Malia.
We are all in the real-time of
where languages are given
Our fingertips imitate omnipotence
with the grace of of a five year old finger painting.
Hilary is cleared of emails.
I celebrate a black man deciding the monetary
worth of his black body
The jubilance of the hefty price
Reminded me black life can be valued by shots
other than those of a gun
All a black boy needs is a ball
To escape the fate of Skittles.
A face swap of Hilary and Trump. Hilary has orange skin; Trump has real hair.
My brother posted
about a man selling CD’s with permission
Who’s son broke down like sunbaked leather
As his mother attempted to blackwomansplain
The value of her man’s human skin.
Barack endorses Hilary Clinton.
Corey Booker may be Hilary’s choice for VP.
Trump is making America Great again.
Ever look at your status for proof your own existence?
A moan for laughter?
A body for a meme?
A death for a horoscope ?
I surpass the weight
of words pressing against
computer generated tarp
Repavement happens so quickly here
In traffic high as the apex of a sycamore tree
Ignorance is easy as lifting peel from an orange
My fingers do the work of hot air
Making objects rise and rise and rise
Pushing all doubt and confusion to my cell phone’s head
I can push the unbearable pass the skyline
Above the clouds of wifi
I’ve decided the spaces between statuses are long breaths.
They give poetic justice to moving on with or without coping.
I could have sworn I saw someone type a stereotype into the gray space.
It showed up on the next news report.
Could it be
The gun she used to kill her children
is the space before the gut
The trigger he pulled to shoot up the club
is the space before the blood
The elbow he used to hold him down
is the space before his plea
The CD’s he sold to feed his family
is the space before the knee
The dumpster he chose to lay her down
is the space before the rape
The liquor he drank that made him sway
is the space before the waste
The body he slay before killing himself
is the space before the news
The daydream that ignored the signal light
Is the space before the abuse
Maybe we’re all waiting to be violenced by gray areas between unmarked statuses.
Go back to Facebook.
His wrap sheet says he was a pedophile.
Ever judge someone’s value by the number of friends on their list?
Ever judge someone’s value by the caliber of friends on their list?
Go back to facebook.
Bodies dance in spaces
Like the eye of a gun was not watching.
Gravity walked onto my timeline
Pulled me into a reckoning
Before I escaped inside a video
Before I was rescued by a meme
Last year I wept for nine.
This year I did not weep for fifty.
Likeness is a pathway to possession
a sheet of white bleach can’t remove.
I like a newborn baby’s picture. A renewal of something that cannot be replaced. The like is not for the babe. It’s for her mother, father, auntie, grandmother, grandfather, some person who stole her likeness before she knew she could hide her face and turn away.
What joy is so extreme it excuses theft?
What fear is so extreme it reduces breath?
-An opportunity to express my anger
A meme gives the five steps
leading to the verdict of not guilty-Scroll on-
I will not emoji another defeat
before the trial-
that may not happen.
A photo of Hilary holding something between her fingers.
Something so important if fits between her forefinger and thumb..
Could it be Blackness?
Got to sleep.
Wake up to a new #.
A four year old child bore witness.