4 poems
Fractured
Tormented delusional once forgotten
once enslaved in the bottom of a pint
now I rest in the folding chairs of a basement
where I sip on paper cups of strong
sometimes weak coffee where I have a good laugh
to the tragedies I sparked from chipped teeth
where I swore to the dead I must draw
a sober breath to repay you for the harm done
I’ve killed all apologies with my bare hands
their funerals swim through my blood
egotism breeds my weakness it’s a slow death
from here yet just for today
from these streets I have a daily reprieve
Her Breath
Her breath is numbered
like black bodies in the streets
like children stolen by uncontrollable hands
like wild flowers on newly bought property
She is tired dying slowly
How will we
brace ourselves
for the impact
of a falling tree
Will we shatter
windshields of gentrifiers
Will we scream
so loud
ears will bleed
of white babies
who gawk at the blacks
because they’ve never
seen
someone black before
in the neighborhood
Will we burn
to ashes a city
money-hungry
extinguish enforcement
of a state
used to harass and kill
Latinx and blacks
the same state
penalizing the diminishing
working class for petty misconduct
I do not know
I do know
another of her death
is another apartment building
caught on fire
What’s Going On
With my window open
this timeless bloom of light
this motif of a balmy
soprano sax resounds
through the emptiness
of a barrel by the gates
of Brower Park
Mother mother
the mural across the street
has chipped paint of a
police officer
a young black boy crying
a dead body fatally shot
a cop car in motion
Marvin Gaye
was fatally shot by his father
we’re left
with a yearning
for safety
by the curb
sirens rush to death
we have a song sung
for the dead
the mural’s message
disarm community
rely on slave catchers
I mean police
(still) for protection
Say something save someone
Our 2nd Amendment
is not a wafer for holy communion why is God assassinated daily
the American flag half-mast
around the corner
from the mural
Father father
In mourning we
thicken the wind with a eulogy
hail cement with bouquets
of stargazer lilies zip-tie
prayers of photocopied portraits
stolen black onyx
those murdered
by what state defines as
state intervention
their enameled eyes
join cop watch
their smiles linger
the multitude of protests
honoring siblings killed
by the unrest resting
within confines of a sick mind
racism is a mental illness
the shattered intellect
fear and power O
brother brother brother
there’s far too many of you
dying
what apology
could ever rectify accusations
to only become a corpse
in custody
what settlement could
there ever be to justify
the kidnapping shooting
shoving the knee on a neck
feel panic in a last gasp
for breath before silence
we all scream I can’t breathe
Don’t punish me with
brutality
a gunshot
hands behind the trigger
the mural stares across the street
pulls the trigger
on this gun show loophole
stating 33 states allow unlicensed dealers to sell guns without
a background check or proof of identity
yet
gun-clenching police
still hold onto their pensions
murder justified
in our times according to the mural 90% of crime
guns come from other
states via the iron pipeline
while these registered
guns in-state legally kill
unarmed bands of us
What’s going on
yeah
What’s going on
Come
We the people
hyphenated diasporic
washed up shore from
kidnapping detoxed in
incubators
in the cold underbelly of
the city
in the unity of the spirit in
the sunlight of glistening
spiderwebs a passionate
procession gets
a streamline kick drum on a
major highway
the demonstrations have
begun We rise
barefoot
legs sprawled hips
stretched we refuse to die
alone
now the ocean floor spreads
continents question
their boundaries on new
land water rises or recedes
We proclaim the power we
have the power to obstruct
white supremacy
patriarchy
heteronormativity
our raised fists shouts
through megaphones
denounce the orthodox
desist violence demolish
all -isms and phobias
We trudge in motion
as our blood douses the
land new crust for the
core
We block presidential alerts
the featured tan lines
the humans pretending to
be AI in the centenaries
of the March
on Washington Stonewall
blocked bridges
hunger strikes
Taking Back The Night
pro-peace / anti-war protests We
say their names
We remember
Thea Matthews is a poet, author, educator; and currently, an MFA Poetry candidate at New York University. www.theamatthews.com