They shot a lot of black men,
this year.

Men with power and uniforms.
They were shot, too.

Schools were bombed
bullets scattered
& teachers, like me, had panic attacks practicing
drills, imagining their students’ bodies
riddled with shrapnel.

& we argued about gun control,
racism,
immigrants,
walls.

Injustice permeated the coffee I drank to calm myself.
Sorrow waltzed along the edges of cheerful conversations
in the grocery store.


White men and women took to platforms,
insisting their version of justice could correct
the suffering.

No one really believed them.
Presidency became a mockery
Division made more clear.


Over three hundred died in Baghdad,

no one flew their flag.

Maybe we were tired of avatars with flags of nations other than our own.
all suffering.
Perhaps so much compassion was overwhelming.
It could be that skin color meant more than I thought.


The skin color I wore,
Light, spattered with freckles,
made my compassion a condescension.
--how could I understand?