Counting Descent

by Clint Smith

they call me blue because they don’t understand how the sky work they call you black because they don’t understand how god work

do you know what it means for your existence to be defined by someone else’s intentions?

I celebrate every breath, tried to start counting them so I wouldn’t take each one for granted. I wish I could give my breath to the boys who had theirs taken, but I’ve stopped counting because it feels like there are too many boys & not enough breath to go around.

Does my mother regret this? That she raised a black boy growing up to think that raised hands made me feel more alive. That raised hands meant I was alive. That raised hands meant I would live.

You are invisible until they turn on the Friday night lights.

it would be nice to be something in a museum one day because that’s what I’ve been told means you’ve lived a meaningful life but I think instead I might like to be in a garden where even after I die the residue of me can help grow something more beautiful than I ever was