Broken Brown: America who’s to blame?

©2014 Manumax

Sometimes a few words, meaningless in and of themselves, and loosely scattered can say much more about a thing than all the monographs and manuscripts in the world. Racism in America is like a bunch of mirrors pointing at each other.  The more you try to see yourself, the more you see a million other selves. Your race, your bank account, your God, where you’re from, your parents, your values, your clothes, your accent, your role models all caught up in an infinite visual prism glistening on network TV. You lean to the left, and they all lean with you. You look away and who knows who looks back.

Broken Brown
Lying down
Joins his people
In the ground
Shoulders touching
Sirens sound
Marching onward
For his town!
Mothers worry
Sisters cry
Fathers suffer
Brothers die
Nations color
Outside the line
Children colored
With shades of crime
Crayons never
Tell a lie
Guilty people
Seldom cry
Drawing pictures
In their heads
Who’s to blame
You or I?
Who’s to blame,
Broken Brown.

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The Liberation of Mortimer

Slow footsteps, but sure ones through the morning mud. Mortimer was awake and waiting for us to save him. But as we walked around the mountain tops the day fell victim to the dark. What cometh then, we could have never known.

Long winters hibernating through our memories, spring cleaning for a braver day. The cold inside was profound. The darkness bleak like raven skin. A thousand pies would never make me smile, a thousand winds could never take our ship to bay.

And in the jungle of that island land, a thousand days of rainfall. Pounding drops of a saltless sea falling from above. Dampening the mud below our naked feet. With every step a squeeling ooze of muddy throngs yearning for deliverance.

I turned to Annabel, she was dead. Our chains still binded us as we dragged her corpse along the way. Our horde was destined to work the land. Towards that quarry we walked with dying footsteps counting down the days.

I turned to Mortimer, he was awake. Waiting for the morning sun. Waiting for his friends to save him from the coldness of his home. And when it was my time, I bathed inside the mud. Stripped naked, dragged along an endless line of misery. I closed my eyes and slipped away hoping that the load of my decaying corpse won’t be too much a burden for those who chose to live another day.

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