—I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE YOU, BUT I’M TRYING TO LEARN

 

 

Too Late to Pray

 

It’s too late to pray

so we sift through

the fabric and weave

of our ancestry

trying to forge a

new history

where we have

meaning and a name

where we’re not

slurs or shell casings

where the same rain

that falls on your head

lands just the same on ours

no more sprayed bullets

or crimson on the corner

no more sons

and daughters

dying in vain while

each momma

screams and wails

screams and wails

screams and wails

screams and wails

as one bloody day

bleeds into

the very next