I Cannot Watch Another Video of a Black Person’s Death

A poem for the lives we’ve lost

Photo by mwangi gatheca on Unsplash

Please don’t send me the video.

Don’t ask me to comment.

Don’t call for my opinion.

I am not there.

I am in the kitchen

cooking a feast from the scraps.

I am sneaking a piece of bacon between a biscuit,

and slipping it into Emmett Till’s hand

in the green coolness of the morning before he goes to town.

I am stirring the baked beans on the back burner,

and watching out the window for Sean to pull into the driveway before his wedding,

He’ll park next to Philando’s car as he kisses Diamond before heading to school.

I am slicing the pork fat into strips to sizzle,

and smiling at Mike Brown and Alton Sterling as they sit around my table and laugh.

Please don’t send me the video.

Don’t ask me to comment.

Don’t call for my opinion.

I am not there.

I am in the living room