don’t you hear the splitting
shrieks of a Black man’s inner child
howling for you to lift your boot off his neck?
it’s a fight-or-flight-risk-his-life type response, he knows.
but he’ll do anything for freedom.
he’ll do anything to escape this dark
pavement purgatory . . .

II.
amerikkka,
(WAKE UP!)

. . . paske se sel Mama ki ka vin deplace’m.

Black man cries out for Mama’s
arms to snatch back his breath.

Black man fills the air with cussing
& spit, struggling to remove
a pig’s boot off his neck.

Black man, with diasporic blood
boiling in his veins, strong-arm
resists a bullshit arrest.

while fighting back a pacifist’s death,
pieces of pavement scatter
as Black man’s fiery fists beat the ground.

Black smoke billows around the midnight sky.
& the bone-dry scent of scorched earth
burns inside a feral swine’s snout.

& now, this muh’fuckin’ grunting pig squeals for backup.
squad cars rush to crowd Black man’s body.

mais, l’union fait la force!

but his kinfolk, his comrades, rush with bats
& poles to protect to his soul.
now a cluster of dark, bloodshot clouds
looms above this posse of pigs’ heads.

tande’m kounye a!
tande nou kounye a!

Black man knows this type of protest
ain’t gon’ throw his soul into purgatory.
ain’t no more waiting for Mama to rest his bones
in a cemetery near Dalamar Street to speak his peace.

you see, the blood in Black man’s eyes,
as red as anti-colonial struggles,

mwen soti Ayiti!

as red as Ayiti’s band of bloodshed,
as New Afrikan bands of bloodshed,
as New Afrikan love for freedom,
as New Afrikan pride,
will never let him compromise.

the enemy of this sun-kissed New Afrikan
will try to shackle him in cuffs,
will try to snuff out his life behind bars,
will try to snatch away his breath.
& yet, Black man resists

— & resists ‘til Mama
& his kinfolk
& his comrades’ arms
stretch out to give him rest.