I stand at a window
I remain motionless
as the heat from the burning cross presses on my window I feel it radiate in my skin, I can ******* own sweat.
I see men, my brothers, in white robes chanting
I've been taught I should be out there with them
I am invisible to them when I am not
this flag above us
brings memories

But not ones I want to remember but instead those  memories we hide we store in the back of our minds and forget until the next trigger

This is that time.

I see a boy, about 8 years old being held up and hurt
his body squirming with every hand that touches him
rather, hits him whips him and I watch
I watch as my brothers spew hate into his ears as if their words burned more than the cross
One grabs a rope.

This young boy with a potential life
becomes potential energy under a noose and a group of what is supposed to represent me.
and a flag that's supposed to represent where I live
All sound stops
I hear a light roar of the fire
but behind the laughter
I hear the struggle of the young black boy gasping for air

And I watch