Two Poems
by K.B. Brookins
We Are Owed This
On the day that Derek Chauvin is indicted for George Floyd’s murder & we learn of Ma’Khia Wright
The least they could do is put a white boy in handcuffs. Push his face into dirt,
make him eat verdicts until his tongue mistakes the tanginess for justice. The least
the state could do was put a man behind bars with taxpayers & public backlash.
That is not the extent of this country’s dreams. If I was a bird, I’d be something
like a pigeon-eagle mix. Bold & funnylooking; arrogant & identifiable by the
genes of wounds from my ancestor’s. I’m not a mother, but I see babies being happy
with no cops around to shoot up their dreams. I shoot up hopes for prisons to evaporate
like a Dr. Doctor shot with garlic & cayenne from Juiceland. We are owed a spicy, iced-down
future at least. We are owed a playground for uncles to sell loosies at the local corner store
& children to call for the help of adults. Death isn’t a lesson learned; it’s only an ending,
an opportunity to do nothing else. If I am destined to be the bird, I’ll pick up all my niggas
on a migration to landscapes where Black people can live. We are owed this, as well as a trip
down memory lane: a time when trips were voluntary & never by ocean.
Ars Poetica with Election Results Still in Limbo
KB is a Black queer nonbinary miracle. They are the author of the chapbook HOW TO IDENTIFY YOURSELF WITH A WOUND (Kallisto Gaia Press, 2022), winner of the 2021 Saguaro Poetry Prize. They are a 2021 PEN America Emerging Voices fellow. Follow them online at @earthtokb.