The Longest Dusk
COVID vivid nightmares
of becoming a black man’s widow
Fear filling my belly
Breakfast. Lynch. Dinner.
I can’t stomach this.
Unrest is my bedmate
Can’t sleep even when I can breathe
Can’t breathe too deep when I do breathe.
COVID. Cops. COVID. Cops.
Which one will kill us today?
Shelter in place may be lifted
But not my hopes.
I want to hug my mom
But my arms aren’t 6 feet long
My arms aren’t 6 feet long
How high do I have to hold them before you see I’m not resisting?
I’m guilty for existing?
I’m guilty for wanting to live?
Am I wrong for wanting to
I want to right this country’s wrongs
But I ain’t did nothin’ wrong
I didn’t do this
Tried to talk to my therapist…
Ended up becoming her’s
What white guilt nonsense is this?
I feel like this trauma is too big
This trauma IS too big
I want to see the glass as half full
But it’s shattered in the streets
And New York
These shards been here since ‘67
We lived through a new millennium
Just to die in the last
We got the same knee on our throats
Got the same chains on our wrists
I wish it felt like dawn.
but it feels like dusk
And I can’t sleep
“Couldn’t sleep. Wrote this poem to get my feelings out.” Poetry by Brandi Keeler, June 3, 2020.
Brandi Keeler is a Detroit-bred creative thinker, consultant and graduate of the College of Creative Studies. Expånd is her design studio and creative consultancy dedicated to do-gooders. She is on a mission to empower individuals and communities to address challenges related to growth, attitude, perception and humanitarianism.