When he was leaving the store, it was starting to rain.
Or:
Winnie was a sleeve torn. It was darting derange.
You might have taken (one can play detective endlessly), a ream of paper and traced intricate scalloped designs of the living room's silver radiator, or the young man, towns away, his face blind- embossed beneath the narrative we won't let go of.
Was it:
The grass nodded beneath the dance.
Or:
Wrists knotted these knees and pants.
Or, perhaps:
Zebras snotted bereaved of ants.
No, knocking on wood won't change what happens next.
Little yellow flags marking their dancing footsteps—
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 is where his body was found.
Nevermind headphones, can of iced tea, lighter, scratched cell phone, or three-leaf clover wanting to turn four.
You might have thought:
He was wearing a red sweater. He's swearing ahead weather. He is airing a head feather. He was erring hat fodder. His hearing a hard father. Is searing an old water. Adhere a worn blotter. A year in hot falter. Here in what order. Earring voiceover. Herring half over. Arrow October. Heroine sober. Rigged clover.
This poem consists of collaged excerpts from eyewitness statements about the murder of Trayvon Martin and excerpts from Taryn Simon's talk about photography, "Photographs of Secret Sites."
"In this 'Being Texan' video, we follow Tejada from the lecture hall to a makeshift library overflowing with books, journals, and a daybook he’s been keeping for twenty years."
"Rereading it—both on the page and listening to a recording of Johnson reading it aloud—has been like bathing in enchanted waters: deep pleasure, stimulation of youthful muscle memory, refreshment. Johnson marries the gritty American mundane with the gorgeous sublime like no other writer."
Poetry Daily stands with the Black community. We oppose racism, oppression, and police brutality. We will continue to amplify diverse voices in the poetry world.
