Punching the Air

by Ibi Zoboi

Halfway through the slides I raised my hand and asked Did other people around the world paint or just old white men from Europe?

I walk to the mess hall I walk around my cell I walk to each of the corners with more corners surrounding me Kadon, Amir, Smoke, and Rah

Everything he says makes sense but the way he’s acting like some shit is ready to pop off any minute now

The bookshelves here are not walls They’re closed windows and all I have to do is pull out one book to make these windows wide open

It’s not up to me, he says But for now, I see you, Shahid Keep your head up and head down at the same time, feel me?

Maybe it was because I’d jumped into the pages of my sketchbook drawing boxes around myself

There’s no thinking in war I remember that’s how I got here

But this time in here I won’t let them say I threw the last punch I surrendered

and we were all red hot bubbling war We were all a volcano spilling lava all over their side of our hood

I paint in words and voices, rhymes and rhythm and every whisper, every conversation beats a drum in my mind

I paint in wrong choices, regrets, and broken dreams and every acquaintance, friend, and enemy laughs at me in my mind really, really loud

I’ve been programmed I get it now When we know what we’re supposed to do and when we’re supposed to do it there’s no room for memories for regret for fear for dreams to slip in

It is a tremendous honor to introduce Dr. Kwesi Bennu

Basically, if we’ve been convicted of a crime we’re slaves So when you did whatever you did or whatever they think you did Your lifeyour whole damn life belongs to them Now read what it says on those orange jumpsuits You’ve been branded labeledboxed in You’ve become property of the state

You’re right, youngblood Dr. Bennu says You don’t belong to anyone while you’re in here Not even to yourself And you already know that

Saying down with the blacks but uplift the white race Raising the banner to the sun in haste Mobbed deep, hoods and capes Sun-dried and bloodstained Saying down with the blacks but uplift the white race Unjustly tried an indelible conviction the usual result of five shades of darker skin Justice unjust, black robes and pale face Didn’t have a chance, they called us apes I wish I would have known the false smiles Evil intentions fulfilling their taste Why me? Why us? Justice unjust, black robes and pale face

Mine is: I threw the first punch

I remember what Kadon had said In here, we are a lost-and-found We try to forget something throw it away but we can always dig it back up when we’re ready because it’s still heretrapped just like us

I don’t even know who is hearing this drawing through the silence

You sound too desperate— Tell her to send some nudes— Can you write me a letter to send to my girl? and they laugh and I laugh— Imani laughs, too

And maybe there are small cracks in our walls and we start to see a sliver of light shine through in each other

Just so I can break those rules

There, outside of my arts high school the internet was my teacher and I discovered Jacob Lawrence and Romare Bearden Faith Ringgold and Kerry James Marshall Alma Thomas and Norman Lewis

The first book in his stack is called The Mis-Education of the Negro and it’s by Carter G. Woodson The next books are by James Baldwin Richard Wright Toni Morrison Octavia Butler Ibram X. Kendi Michelle Alexander and Ta-Nehisi Coates Next time I come we’ll discuss what you’ve read— he says before leaving

and turn shapes into people, spaces, and ideas And I ask them Y’all ever heard of the butterfly effect?