Do I sit shellshocked from tragedy,
Or do I stand beside those suffering,
Remembering the saints shot down?
Do I find solace in the capture of a terrorist,
Or do I struggle to find a pulse for justice and shalom,
Among the rubble of our failing communities?
Do I remain silent,
With words unformed and thoughts untethered,
Or do I lament over a nation so fractured, frightened, frail?
Charleston, voices suddenly summoned,
Joining the song of black men, women and children,
Too long obscured or placated.
Do I hear mine among them?
Or do I find my silence masquerading itself,
On the sidelines of convenience?
Do I hide behind the comfort of my non-black skin,
Or do I awaken, finally, this day,
marred by the residue of black blood spilled?
Constructed from the unarmed, now still,
The anthem rings.
A church prayed,
Shots pierced the sky.
9 dead. June 17, 2015.
Racism, stark and unfiltered indeed,
Quick to distance ourselves,
Are we still so blind, so naive?