—After Tariq Thompson
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Midnight rain pelts the roof, & sometimes I confuse its sound with that

of a noose being knotted. The wind assaults the shutters & I think

approaching mob. We pace our children through practice drills praying

these skills are never tested. At dinner we sit round our table hoping

the window meets no opposition to its wholeness. I know better my

shotgun’s heft than a night of peaceful slumber. I’d swap the broken

glass in my stomach for butterflies, but that wouldn’t lower the threat on

my house. I could stop speaking truth but that wouldn’t make me any

less a nigga in Mississippi. Fear not is actually terrible advice for a

nigga in Mississippi. At the marches, we still singing of futures promised

to too few of us. Police dogs remember the sweet of our blood & whine

for more. When shot through a megaphone, a threat is usually a

promise. When shot through Black skin, a bullet is usually forgiven.

When freedom rings, we’ll answer & ask, what took you so long?