Riot :: A Poem

Riot :: A Poem

I told him
(this was before the burning started)
that I felt like throwing bricks
through windows. Just one
or two.
He looked at me with concern.


the truth is
my proclivity to rage
is never far away
I get it- I understand the falling in
the way a switch turns and
everyone decides
ah, well, let’s just do this next thing
no one cares about us anyway
and I haven’t had coffee creamer in ages
I would like a vacuum cleaner
and maybe I’ll bust open that safe.


I didn’t throw any bricks
(or steal anything).
I painted a portrait of George Floyd.
I kept getting caught up
Oh, how beautiful
I would think
as I often do while tracing an
eyebrow
a cheekbone
a lip, and for a moment I would forget:
He’s gone now
this page has been torn
out of the book
they couldn’t be bothered to let him
breathe.


I saw this kid talking
getting emotional,
trying to say no, we didn’t want this
we didn’t ask for this
you are doing this to us
and I thought, that kid is being
traumatized by this
by these videos
and you know what trauma does to
the body
and brain
and I’ve heard my brother’s stories
of prison, of working the fields for free
in the twenty-first century
and the way the guards would make them fight
set them against each other like dogs


Isaac stood behind me at the computer
while I was scrolling through
and that video started
and I fumbled with the mouse and scrolled
away but then
another one came up and the videos are
everywhere and his beautiful face
is on the ground
and “don’t look”
I screamed and Isaac turned away
immediately
not seeing but understanding
from the tone of my voice
that this was not something he should see.


so fires and breaking
oh I know they are not within
the bounds of the law
but the law has failed us


and —I get it—
sometimes burning seems
like the only audible voice
at all.