This is not a poem.

The words simply wanted to be written this way…

For K…

[To be read on your 16th birthday

or maybe never]

The cops

won’t care

that you are

the sweetest

boy.

You are

BLACK,

unperson.

This fact

and

nothing else

means

you are

marked.

They

can/

could/

might

kill

you

dead.

Any time,

any where,

any way.

I am

a liar.

As I type

these words,

I’m looking

at a photograph

of your

precious

BLACK

face

and so

I’m going

to lie.

I’ve been

trying

to write

a letter.

It’s been

too long

in coming.

It’s futile

so

I’ve given up.

You asked me

about

the police

while we were

eating

hamburgers.

You said

you were

scared

they might

not know

you were

a nice

person

and that

in their

ignorance,

they might

hurt

or

kill you.

I had

a difficult

time

choking down

the rest

of the food

on my plate.

You looked

at me

for

a few seconds:

expectantly.

You could

tell

I was

upset.

You started

to tell

a silly

story.

That is

quintessentially

you.

Goofy,

funny,

beautifully BLACK.

You smiled.

I couldn’t.

I excused

myself,

walked to

the bathroom,

closed the door,

sank to the floor,

put my head

on my knees,

and cried.

After

a few minutes,

I heard

a knock

at the door

and your voice:

“Tantie, are you OK?

Do you feel SICK?”

I called out,

“I’m fine.

Be out

in a minute.”

Then

I cried

harder.

I washed

my face,

took a

deep breath,

opened

the door.

You were

playing

video

games.

I sat

on the couch

behind you

and watched.

We didn’t

talk

again

about

cops

and death.

On the plane,

flying back

to Chicago,

I tried

to put

pen to paper.

Nothing.

I’ve tried

to write you

several times

in the past

six weeks.

Nothing.

I have

to lie

to you

and

so

nothing.

If the police approach you,

don’t make any sudden moves.

Don’t run.

Always be polite.

“Yes officer, No officer.”

Know your rights.

Give them your name and your address.

If you are in a car,

keep your hands on the steering wheel.

Don’t.Make.Any.Sudden.Moves.

Never.Run.

Always.Be.Polite.

These tips

will

protect you.

These suggestions

will

preserve

Life.

Will

forestall

Death.

I have

to lie

to you.

I’m sorry.

They do

research.

There’s

a thing

called

“weapons bias.”

Blackness makes

people

prone to seeing

guns

where there are

none.

Blackness

conjures…

WEAPONS.

Did I tell you

about the tips

that will

keep you

SAFE

from the cops?

Do you remember them?

Pay attention.

If the police approach you,

don’t make any sudden moves.

Don’t run.

Always be polite.

“Yes officer, No officer.”

Know your rights.

Give them your name and your address.

If you are in a car,

keep your hands on the steering wheel.

Don’t.Make.Any.Sudden.Moves.

Never.Run.

Always.Be.Polite.

I have

to lie

to you.

I’m sorry.

Here’s my secret.

My fear.

What if the truth

turns you

into

one of the

walking dead?

A zombie.

You are

so loved.

You are

so treasured.

By us.

Your family.

But to the rest

of the world,

you are

UNPERSON,

inanimate

object,

time bomb,

to be

diffused.

How can this

make sense

to you

at 11?

Because

you are

a nice person.

I want

your spirit

joyful.

I want

your goodness

and

your heart

protected.

I want your

hopes

for the future

uncrushed.

I want your body

shielded.

I want your

humanity

affirmed.

I want…

everything

for you.

So

I’ll lie.

I can’t find

my pen

or any paper

and

I’ve swallowed

my tongue.