black lives matter

in this city of black and white, where we lie
to ourselves about who is a human being, where we lie
on the street for four hours killed, our corpses feasts
for the eyes of media vultures flapping their wings,
desperately scavenging meaning,
new souls enter the world

we tell ourselves they matter, all these new lives matter
we keep watch over their heart tones even before they arrive
unaware of whose yellow bumps and jagged lines are whose
and we rush into their rooms and tell their mothers to push
and we yank these new souls out of their wombs

in this city of black and white, some births are joy
and tears and tears of joy streaming down the cheeks of
all the cheerleaders whose breath fogs the windows
at the sight of baby's blue-green-hazel-gray eyes

some births are unceremonious
some mothers reach out for a hand in a cold room where there is no hand
just a human in scrubs and sterile gloves at the end of the bed
who can't hold her hand back
who will welcome her black baby into a cruel world
into a cruel home north of delmar where there is no food
and baby will grimace in an incubator with eyes unadmired
and the sterile gloves will sew up her tears
and pretend that both of them aren't bleeding their way to a slow death