[Poem-a-Week] Girl Meets Again the Man Who Yells by Schyler Butler
Like suddenly, I am foe to black freedom because I wanna frolic under the wind’s guidance. It is hard to love anything with broken vision. You told me love is vengeance. In your anger, I now hear suffering: the outstretched palm of a hungry child whose mother lived too long in her head. She also knew papyrus boats from the east sailed here on purpose, before Columbus laid a finger on a thing. She named her firstborn Sokar; she marched beside the freedom fighters and told you black is beautiful, yet here you are, the evidence of her needle. How little either of you breathe, holding Death’s plaque in your belly because hunger violates peace. Let it be said that knowledge is not power. Let joy reveal men, women, and children choosing breath in case what they inhale is life and if it freezes you mid-sentence, may the tenderness be good.
Upcoming Events
Excellent! Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem.