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.