Because Not to Cry is an Injustice

by Rathanak Michael Keo

Lover,

the poor all try to dream but we live under the threat
of blinding blue and red nightlights that
send out guardian angels to protect us
from ourselves,   
harvesting colored youths for safe keeping
while Rush Limbaugh experiments
with painkillers for a third time  
and buys his way out of jail. 

our walls resonate with the hymns of new mothers singing,
hush-a-bye baby don’t you cry…
before their infants have the word; "brotherhood"
to speak out.
to speak up.

see, I think we convince ourselves that things
are always better swept away silent

by blissful bedtime lullabies;
of all the pretty horses; blacks and bays, dapple grays
breaking away, or easing in children’s fear of the boogieman

even at such a young age we are taught
that freedom is freeway travel; is capitalism, is mobile, is American.

so we can't understand why we're sleepless and vexed anymore, and blame ourselves for it.

now, I don't want to rant but you need to know

1. contrary to popular belief, there is no difference between pain pill addictions and crack. except who can afford treatment.
2. the promise of equality doesn't come with desegregation.
3. the only assurance that came with Brown vs. The Board of Ed. was self blame.
   

the truth is;

1. the youth is crying;
   because they haven’t forgotten the word “love”
   is too complicated for one syllable, or even a thousand languages

2. parents hope;
   because they learn the word “hate”
   is selective, opened for discussion, limited to interpretation and/or misrepresentation.

3. communities demand;
   because the mouth on an asphalt,
   sparks the tongue like a firecracker,
   inciting magic to the mind that finds a baton to the
   back of the neck.
   (speak up/ speak up/ speak up/ love/ speak out/ speak out/ speak out)
   

early morning when we drive by the schools,
we’ve seen our brightest stars fade behind the red and white bars
Of Amerika. 
their smile,
a half-broken crescented moon
exposes the American dream for what it is, accumulation.

they place their dreams over their hearts
and swear allegiance
to a system that needs them to forget their color.
a system that knows teaching poor children that race doesn’t matter
will silence them, forever.

they place their hands over their hearts,
and before they lock away their dreams
under the weight of their own thumbs  
I kiss your forehead after securing my seatbelt,
and mouth that in the future our children won’t have to dream around this,

because crying is a good thing/because refusal is freedom/because magic speaks volume/

I will never tell you to stop crying. I will never tell you to stop crying. I will never tell you to stop crying.

because not to cry is an injustice.

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