Tears are filling city drains,
mother’s kitchens, and father’s
dens, destined to reach Africa’s Nile
that has already wept for a slain child.
I hum African spirituals, hoping to
serve justice to Trayvon in this lyrical
I say seven prayers, one after the other.
And hope it never happens to another
innocent Black boy.
In those few seconds of “Help!” a boy’s
dreams were stolen, forgotten, destroyed.
Where were the rainbows after Trayvon
His body lay lifeless for three days until
his family learned of his murder. Imagine
the universe’s sound in the wake of his death!
In his eyes, I see my nephews, his friends,
their little brothers, and their friends at
school, who wear hoodies ’cause they’re
I chant mantras for Trayvon. I sing earth songs
from the depths of my lungs and hope every lyric
reaches his place in the unknown.
This is a telepathic hug to Trayvon, and for
every Black boy who is done wrong or is
These words are teardrops taking their time
to align themselves with justice, meandering
their way through the minds of brokenhearted
mothers and fathers who shine flashlights in the
dark hoping their son returns home from school
or the park safely.
We cried for Emmett Till. We cry for Trayvon
because hate and torture of Black boys and men
is ever-present and real.
(c) Christopher D. Sims
March 23rd, 2012
All rights reserved