found

You can not exist. Today I read a story in the paper; a pair of human remains was found in the creek where me and The Boy used to play.
They are–they were children.
Someone wrote about it online, and another someone wrote , “praying for God’s peace.”
What peace?
I hear that you work in mysterious ways–but I do not think you work at all.
My skin is brown, the brown of coffee and earth. My eyes are brown, the deep mahogany of soil. My hair coils from my scalp and reaches up towards where they said you are.
And people hate me. They hate this skin that you gave me and the eyes that I have only ever had to watch for you and the hair that can only be tamed if I strip it down bare and constrain it.
What are you, that you should watch them kill The Boy, that I should listen to them besmirch him and make him unworthy of justice, that his blood should spill and no one should clean it?
Someone wrote about it online, and another someone wrote, “praying for god’s peace.”
What peace?
You can not exist. Today I passed a man with a cardboard sign; the smudges on it read, “homeless veteran, please help.” I wondered about you, then, now where is your hand, to stop him from falling this low?
What are you doing while they pray? Why do you still not answer?
You can not exist. You can not see me, weeping for The Boy and praying for peace which will never be ours, looking forward to justice in this world because there is surely no next.
If you were there I would hate you. You made me this and you left me and you let them kill me and let me starve and you wouldn’t show yourself to me and you were silent and I could not find peace.

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One thought on “found

  1. Pingback: found | Slowly We Unfurl Again

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