Memory's hand grenade
Updated: Nov 20, 2020
i.m. George Floyd
From the marrow in the marrow: the start.
Was he pushed?
I am angry nearly every day.
Can you hear me?
Pass on charity;
what is wanted is to tell
a different ending.
Save the sorrows, go instead for justice.
All WASP; can anyone tell me why?
It takes courage to fight a river
after the loud red stains,
the inconvenience of violence.
Did this happen to your brother?
Threads, hundreds of talk-talks.
Truth always comes after death.
Courage is the price of a letter
to the world
after the trampling of a neck.
Tiny filaments binding people,
even the halt and the blind,
the city bringing hither so many roads.
Even nothing is a movement in space,
and the devils, too, are America.
Still, there’s no fear without hope,
high acts for our best morality,
and maybe a clutch of luck –
a tidal wave, like air, that rises,
because there is only this:
a person, spending their life.
An earlier version of this poem appeared in Abridged: https: https://www.abridged.zone/echo-13/