I Came to Teach, Not to Bury Your Dead

We lost another one and…the story goes on.

death is a hooligan

misanthrope. killer.

claiming the lost nation.

lost boys. one funeral then

one more. must i drown

in tears before you see

i only came to teach?

i didn’t come to bury

your dead. like a mother

i see the crust of sleep

in the corner of their eyes.

how long have they been

asleep? if i shake them

will they care? my spittle

is not disrespect. mama

always used to clean

our face that way.

we could never

seem to get it right. love

moved her hands to her lips

where she could dab a little

spit and use it to clean

a dirty face. hold still.

don’t move. it’s all in love.

i want to change your mindset,

not you. i love you. always

have. always will. i string together

words to save you but you can’t

read can you? how can i get you

to see i came to teach,

not to bury your dead?

i will not carry the corpse

of another young black boy’s

soul. too many to count.

outnumbered. the stars

have nothing on the bodies i see

piled up. darkness. the

corpses obstruct the view

of the stars. makes a fence

around our souls and we

can’t see beyond today.

you smell of despair or

is that me? sometimes

i feel so confused.

the mud underneath

my fingernails should prove

that i don’t hate you.

never did. would i help you

bury your dead if i didn’t

love you?

Peace & Love,

Rosalind