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