Skip to main content

Scout on Bigotry/Slopes

Smooth slopes to travel down

For the dripping tears rarely released

My blank face in its reflection

Dumbfounded by her reaction

To my question

She turns around

To hide what you can see in her eyes

The image of her sons, brothers, fathers, and uncles

Wrapped in white cloth

By the thousands

In her choked cries

I hear their voices before they become a memory

 

Smooth slopes to travel down

For the people who ignore her tears

For the people who ignore the men wrapped by the thousands

In her voice, I think back, they weren’t the grunts of men

They were laughs of children

Cries of newborn babies

Wrap yourself in warm white clothes

Don’t forget that your position

Is a privilege

 

Smooth slopes to travel down

For my tears when I’m alone

Not created by the thousands of wrapped bodies

But by the turning of their cheeks

At the sight of a people’s disappearance

 

Smooth slopes to travel down

For people who think souls aren’t equal

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Scout on Addiction/Smarties

  Candy wrappers slathered onto wooden tables and chip bags’ potent smells wafted through the air and around the stickiness of all the junk food you could ever imagine. No child knew it then, but those chemicals kept them high. Maybe it was on sugar, possibly on one of the countless chemicals under the nutritional information listings with names none of us could read. Either way, it lifted those of us who couldn’t rely on anything else, who kept that smile plastered on our faces from eight to three. A quarter of an hour after that injection, that wrinkling of the wrappers, the crushing of the Smarties, we were free from everything.             We only needed it more the older we got, but eventually, it wasn’t strong enough; we needed something new, something stronger. A few sniffs couldn’t hurt, right? Just like those powdered Smarties, except much more expensive. I almost couldn’t feel myself after it, and all I could rememb...
Post a Comment
Read more

What is Identity?/Ms. Jenkins

“I’m not sure.” The words echoed in my mind well after they were spoken, free from the clutter that gave weight or value to my thoughts. I hadn’t heard the question, but I knew the answer was buried somewhere, shoved in a closet with my dirty clothes, begging to be remembered. My knowledge became dormant and stiff, stinking the conscience so easily drowned by a perfect appearance. “Are you listening to me? What’s the answer?” The curved lines of a surprisingly perfect drawing connected as I glanced up at the teacher. At least a dozen people were raising their hands, but she had chosen me. After all, one silent person is more significant than a thousand laughs to a comedian. The demand for perfection and absolute attention controls even those so far in their life and careers; I can’t dare be the one to question that impartiality. What is identity? the board read. How dare she ask a question she doesn’t have the answer for? I watch her pretend to be content every class, preten...
Post a Comment
Read more

Scout on Systems/Take Flight Part 2

  The second one was placed on my path home. The dirt road was crowded with leaves and weeds, and this time it was a bright yellow bird that was placed perfectly on its side. A piece of paper was tied around its neck. I didn’t want to read it, but I was too afraid of what could happen if I wasn’t aware of it. After all, no one fears the dark, they fear what could be in it. I pulled the string delicately away from its hollow body. The beige cutout fell into the bushes, and I scrambled to grab it. I brought it close to my face, savoring the moment of mystery. It read: One strike left. Leave your Verse . They knew I wouldn’t listen. Even as the bird’s blinding feathers shuffled through the wind and my shoes sunk in the mud, I was grounded. Even as the clouds wept for me, my eyes saw so clearly ahead. I walked through the empty trails that were so little visited as the Hands ran home to bend over and complete mundane work. I wondered; did they ever feel the dirt under them instead ...
Post a Comment
Read more