still, i wonder if you wonder if we are capable of suffering?

I don’t want to bring it up

but I must bring it up

 

when certain ghost seem

to pass quiet as rain

 

just before dawn

how you wake

 

to a wet lawn with no

memory of the storm

 

that’s what the blood

is like, you point

 

to it & ask how it got there

you can’t imagine

 

a storm you can’t see

even if the winds

 

are ripping my body

into fifths, even if

 

your body is the lightning

I seek shelter from.

 

if tomorrow is my turn

to be the body on the news

 

will you mourn me or

blame me? will I be a tragedy

 

or a tradition? will you

retweet me? will you

 

change your profile pic

to my gentlest headshot?

 

will you bother

to learn my name?

 

will you elegy me? am I

the right shade of your mourning?

 

do you only feel sadness

when the victims are white?

 

who do you pray for

& what color is your god?

 

do you believe God

loves your country more?

 

do your dreams taste like

pie & oil & blood?

 

tell me the difference

amongst the bones