Brave New Worlds collide and shatter
into colors and sounds unseen, unheard of.
Catastrophic histories cascade in crescendo
to tell a story that both begins and ends in heartbreak.
Exposition occurs sometime before whiplashes on our backs
turned to bullet holes in our backs,
but after chains around our wrists
turned to cuffs around our wrists.
The plot thickens in some small town,
minority-riddled,
where a line has been drawn in blood
beneath a cloud of gunpowder,
which seems to linger unwillingly in the humid southern air.
Separated, brown mothers--who promised
themselves they'd never be here--
and their children--who promised
themselves their mothers would never be here--
respond to tragedy in the only way anger manifests,
and officers begin to laden themselves in riot gear.
Somewhere,
between their meet and their disperse,
Molotov-cocktails and teargas canisters
confuse age of perceptions of Black and White
with the nuances of the Human Condition.
Suddenly,
it's not a small town,
minority-riddled.
It's more than that.
And suddenly,
you resent small towns,
minority-riddled,
for making you step outside of yourself,
and forcing you to dodge mirrors.
Avoiding the questions you know must be waiting there for you.
Jaylin Paschal
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