Southern trees
Bore the strange fruit
Of black bodies swinging
And today the streets
are filled with black 
Bodies 
Leaving communities and families searching for meaning
We can 
Educate 
Assimilate
Uplift the race
But no matter how much
We thrive, strive and survive
I have to worry, teach and protect my son like it was 1855
I have to worry about his 
Pants, his shirt, his diction,
Facial expression, height, level of threat that may be perceived 
Because he is breathing
And therein lies the threat
Black life matters
But black life
Is threatening
My sons innocence is only felt by me
And this not not a new narrative
This is a recycled theme
From the continent
To the ship
To the shore
To the field
To the tree
To the factory
To the city streets
Black bodies
Lying in the streets
For hours
For years
For centuries
I weep…