The Tradition

by Jericho Brown

There is the happiness you have And the happiness you deserve.

I love my mother. I love black women Who plant flowers as sheepish as their sons. By the time the blooms Unfurl themselves for a few hours of light, the women who tend them Are already at work.

I will not shoot myself In the head, and I will not shoot myself In the back, and I will not hang myself With a trashbag, and if I do, I promise you, I will not do it In a police car while handcuffed Or in the jail cell of a town I only know the name of Because I have to drive through it To get home.

I promise if you hear Of me dead anywhere near A cop, then that cop killed me. He took Me from us and left my body, which is, No matter what we’ve been taught, Greater than the settlement A city can pay a mother to stop crying,

It’s not that I love them Every day. It’s that I love them anyway.

We use Maps we did not draw. We see A sea so cross it. We see a moon So land there. We love land so Long as we can take it.