Blood at the Root

by LaDarrion Williams

Let Black boys hear the cicadas sing their songs to the Alabama sky. Let them feel that syrupy sweat sticking their clothes to their body. Let their stories be filled with the smell of the sweet corn bread and collard greens of their grandma’s cooking. Let the words on the page reveal our young Black boys, who will be sitting at the feet of their grandparents and meet God.

There’s no use in holding on to bad memories when you can make new ones.

You wanna make God laugh, tell him ya plans.

“Malik, in my experience, it’s not the actual hurt that is the most painful. It’s the letting go.

“Is the letting go. My mama been gone for a while, and some people think I should stop trying to figure out that night. But I’m not sure I can give up.”