Black Sons

By Yvette Battle-Leaphart

It is common for black males to die young in these times
Prematurely, violently before their prime.
It is a phenomena that cannot be explained
But I see the wall of pain revisited by mothers
Whose sons die before their very eyes
And we, mothers, cry for the loss of our sons who die
And the loss of our sons who pulled the trigger.

My son crying at the wakes of dozens of his friends in as many years

What is this dark vigilante spirit that invades their soul?
Creating countless black holes in our universe
Perpetuating a twisted ecological balance-
Some weird equation with no solution
It is, after all, not the earth that yields
9 millimeters/assault rifles, Glock 9s ­

Yet they come to rest frequently in the hands of
the young who become life-takers, stalkers, hunters,
killers; declaring war on each other
trading a look, a gold chain, a girl... for a life?

This is our terror and our reality.
A cousin bound, gagged, tortured ­ dead at 15
His mom wailing, recognizing him only by a mole ­ a birthmark -
left starkly intact on his young face

Not just "over there" ---no --not just "over there"
Here - on my street today, yours tomorrow
Inner-city discontent turned to irrationality
bullets flying in the face of reason
for no reason that we can comprehend

Yet, we can launch spaceships. Build supercomputers.
Download massive amounts of data onto the heads of pins
But have no science to predict or save the next victim
Billions of dollars spent on war "over there"
­0-for this insidious war at home.

My sons survived;
Though I have held mothers of the sons who did not.

We will save the Great Winged Hawk from extinction
But, who will save our Black sons?