I

However the image enters
its force remains within
my eyes
rockstrewn caves where dragonfish evolve
wild for life, relentless and acquisitive
learning to survive
where there is no food
my eyes are always hungry
and remembering
however the image enters
its force remains.
A white woman stands bereft and empty
a black boy hacked into a murderous lesson
recalled in me forever
like a lurch of earth on the edge of sleep
etched into my visions
food for dragonfish that learn
to live upon whatever they must eat
fused images beneath my pain.

II

The Pearl River floods through the streets of Jackson
A Mississippi summer televised.
Trapped houses kneel like sinners in the rain
a white woman climbs from her roof to a passing boat
her fingers tarry for a moment on the chimney
tearless and no longer young, she holds
a tattered baby's blanket in her arms.
In a flickering afterimage of the nightmare rain
a microphone
****** up against her flat bewildered words
"we jest come from the bank yestiddy
borrowing money to pay the income tax
now everything's gone. I never knew
it could be so hard."
Despair weighs down her voice like Pearl River mud
caked around the edges
her pale eyes scanning the camera for help or explanation
unanswered
she shifts her search across the watered street, dry-eyed
"hard, but not this hard."
Two tow-headed children hurl themselves against her
hanging upon her coat like mirrors
until a man with ham-like hands pulls her aside
snarling "She ain't got nothing more to say!"
and that lie hangs in his mouth
like a shred of rotting meat.

III

I inherited Jackson, Mississippi.
For my majority it gave me Emmett Till
his 15 years puffed out like bruises
on plump boy-cheeks
his only Mississippi summer
whistling a 21 gun salute to Dixie
as a white girl passed him in the street
and he was baptized my son forever
in the midnight waters of the Pearl.

His broken body is the afterimage of my 21st year
when I walked through a northern summer
my eyes averted
from each corner's photographies
newspapers protest posters magazines
Police Story, Confidential, True
the avid insistence of detail
pretending insight or information
the length of **** across the dead boy's *****
his grieving mother's lamentation
the severed lips, how many burns
his gouged out eyes
sewed shut upon the screaming covers
louder than life
all over
the veiled warning, the secret relish
of a black child's mutilated body
fingered by street-corner eyes
bruise upon livid bruise
and wherever I looked that summer
I learned to be at home with children's blood
with savored violence
with pictures of black broken flesh
used, crumpled, and discarded
lying amid the sidewalk refuse
like a ***** woman's face.

A black boy from Chicago
whistled on the streets of Jackson, Mississippi
testing what he'd been taught was a manly thing to do
his teachers
ripped his eyes out his *** his tongue
and flung him to the Pearl weighted with stone
in th e name of white womanhood
they took their aroused honor
back to Jackson
and celebrated in a *******
the double ritual of white manhood
confirmed.

IV

"If earth and air and water do not judge them who are
we to refuse a crust of bread?"

Emmett Till rides the crest of the Pearl, whistling
24 years his ghost lay like the shade of a ***** woman
and a white girl has grown older in costly honor
(what did she pay to never know its price?)
now the Pearl River speaks its muddy judgment
and I can withhold my pity and my bread.

"Hard, but not this hard."
Her face is flat with resignation and despair
with ancient and familiar sorrows
a woman surveying her crumpled future
as the white girl besmirched by Emmett's whistle
never allowed her own tongue
without power or conclusion
unvoiced
she stands adrift in the ruins of her honor
and a man with an executioner's face
pulls her away.

Within my eyes
the flickering afterimages of a nightmare rain
a woman wrings her hands
beneath the weight of agonies remembered
I wade through summer ghosts
betrayed by vision
hers and my own
becoming dragonfish to survive
the horrors we are living
with tortured lungs
adapting to breathe blood.

A woman measures her life's damage
my eyes are caves, chunks of etched rock
tied to the ghost of a black boy
whistling
crying and frightened
her tow-headed children cluster
like little mirrors of despair
their father's hands upon them
and soundlessly
a woman begins to weep.

Lady Macbeth washed her hands
cleaner than Pontius Pilate
with a new improved, bio-enzyme
oxy-bursting, 99.9% germ-scouring
recommended by dermato-logists
scented with rose attar
oils from Arabia
and spermaceti soothing
unguents from long dead whales.

She’s going to the nail bar
for a manicure and application
of semi-permanent, diamond-
tipped, acrylic base-coated
in red blood enamel.

She’ll scratch
and etch rich tattoos
on her husband’s back
with every ******, he will shudder
with pain and delight
He’ll soon forget long, dark nights
bewitched by ghosts and ambition.

© M.L. Emmett

everyday at 8:00am sharp, i see the same tiny, tired faces walk 2 blocks south just to get more confused then when they started the day
i wondered how many of these faces would grow up to be politicians
how many would grow up to be doctors
and how many would grow up to still be confused
emmett a young boy that just lives three houses down the street
stopped me on my way to work
he asked me "how come my parents yell at each other?"
not thinking about he said, i responded "go ask your mother"
and continued on my walk.
i pressed play on my iPod to only have loud bangs startle me
and glanced behind me only to see boulders of tears fall from the boys face
the night before i fell asleep watching the animal channel and remembered the young gazelle that was violently eaten because his parents weren't there to protect him
emmett, unprotected, fell to his knees, dropped his head back and cried out like it was the skies fault for this feelings
i couldn't help but be afraid, i heard the anger of his voice mimic his parents bed time stories from behind his closed door
like father like son, what you learn is what you practice
and i could tell that what he was learning was more from home then in the classroom
i wrapped my arms around him, three times over
so he could be closer to a beating heart then he has in months
the earthquake of his tiny nerves dropped from about a 10 on the Richter's scale down to about a 6.3
therefore i knew that i was comforting more then i was strangling this boy against my chest
i whispered, what you feel is okay
what you know if not all to life
there's more then just bomber planes that fly over your families unity
love doesn't normally involve being a prisoner to your bedroom
and certain doesn't involve yelling at the one you planned forever with
his eyes looked up at me like two rays of sunlight peaking through the rain clouds and said "so there's hope"
i never heard three words so sad but so reassuring
ecstatic in his conclusion, i yelled "YES OF COURSE" but obviously with much more enthusiasm then he's use to
he untangled himself from my net, and opened his backpack
he pulled out a piece of construction paper that read "tank you for your helb"
although there was no "h" in the word thank and there was a b instead of a p, i got what he meant
he said i made this for my teacher but i want you to have it
you help me dry my tears so my friends don't think i'm weird
and theres always more crayons in classroom anyways

since then we've walk every day to school together
and that piece of so perfectly written construction paper now hangs in the office of a doctor.

I am Emmett Till
watch me not smile
you can feel me whistling to white America
while I beg to be let in
with agony arising around my soul
severity of envy crushed my heart
She watched with a smile
while I was tortured
by the white men she used
because I would not do with her
the ***
she wanted
white America
I am dead
and I am no longer your *** slave

My location in viewing was Regal Union Square in New York City
October 15, 2022
Mississippi was where the story took place
Medgar Evers on the case adding to the trace
It was injustice and hatred portrayed
The analogy of being black
The opposition in wanting black to take back
The movie was more than a flick
The lies told throughout that stuck
Anger with emotion
Cries feeling the pain of Emmett Till’s Mother
The open coffin of her son’s reality
The world saw and remembered
The lifeless body of Emmett Till
Justice wasn’t served
A mixed menu of what was not ordered
I held this movie close to my heart
Legacy influence from Thurgood Marshall and Civil Rights Leader, Medgar Wiley
Evers
There’s a connection, and I personally felt the experience of the movie throughout
I actually met the Medgar Evers Family, and I graduated from CUNY Medgar Evers College
This person is legacy as well, but wasn’t in the movie with a mention
I was lectured at CUNY MEC by Professor Dr. Betty Shabazz, Malcolm X’s Widow
Even though Miss Till loss the battle, she proved to the Racist world that Blacks have a Voice, Courageous, Determined and will not be still
The voices of reason will always shout out
Miss Till surpassed through the tribulations, Boundaries and Crossing Forbidden Lines
Yet, she held her dignity in honor of her son, Emmett Till
Miss Till was encouraged through the higher minds of legacy
She was guided by Heaven’s eyes
Pillar of Strength
All costs at every length
Emmett Till with smiles and joy
The train may have departed
The Sunrise and Sunset captures the paths taken
The world awakened
Emmett Till until
Everlasting
Spirit reigns
Emmett Till ranks
Thanks

Listen intently now, if you will,
To the sorrowful story of Emmett Till--
A black fourteen-year-old lad
Who hadn't done what they said he had

In August of 1955.
It's possible he could still be alive
If only he…if only…well,
Listen to what I have to tell.

Caught in one of those circumstances
Of having made ****** advances,
Till, whose actions were taken for granted--
Note: his accuser later recanted--

Was brutally tortured, lynched, and shot.
His body was left in the river to rot
Not very far from Glendora, Miss.
How shocking to hear stories like this!

Two white men, in a great hurry,
Were later acquitted by an all-white jury.
Such incidents are a wound indeed
On the soul of America. Watch it bleed!

In 2007 a sign was erected
At the site of the ******, but someone objected,
And suddenly the sign disappeared,
Just as many people had feared.

A second sign replaced number one,
But thugs seeking perverse fun
Destroyed the sign with bullets, and so
Sign number two had to go.

Officials did what they had to do,
And sign number three replaced number two.
Within a few weeks, it, too, was marred
With bullet holes leaving it scarred.

The bullet-riddled sign demonstrates
There's work left to do in all fifty states.
Prejudice and hatred are blinding;
The road to justice is long and winding.

-by Bob B (8-21-18)

You breathed your last breath from the air
in this room;
that threadbare Persian carpet
holds flakes from your skin;
hairs from your head
corkscrew the dented cushions
scattered and idly waiting on the sofa;
bed linen scented with your sweat
the goose down doona that stole
your last warmth;
sleep spit and tears
human moisture that permeates
the acrylic layers of your pillow;
an eyebrow hair wedged in the tweezers;
a clipped nail that flew off
somewhere out of sight;
that new toothbrush used only once;
your flannel and towel still drying out;
the wet press footprint on the bathroom mat;
the talcum powdered slippers
abandoned under the brass bed.
Each moment of everyday
we shed ourselves
shed dead cells and renew -
a cycle of shedding
until the last
shedding of ourselves.


               © M.L. Emmett

I am a guy.
Just a guy.
Not an "ummm...technically."
or "biologically female."
Not: "used to be a girl",
"Thinks she's a guy",
"Doesn't dress like a boy",
"What she got between her legs?",
"Wears makeup",
"Doesn't pass"-

Gender norms literally **** people.

Every "I'm sorry" is just a peeling paint job
over an intercity wall,
no one really wants to look at,
or fix,
or admit to.

This is not a problem I brought on myself.
My gender is not a problem,
You are the problem.

I'm not running from what's inside me anymore,
I know what's inside me,
I've made peace with what's inside me
It's the same old, same old,
with a new set of words
you ******* can't wrap your tongues around.

I don't care if you slipped up,
Fix it.
I don't care if you didn't know I was a boy,
Fix it.
I don't care about your cis guilt, cis excuses, or cis ignorance
Fix it.

Because you don't know the age limit
not to be Emily anymore.
The hundreds of dollars it costs.
Every: "Hello Ladies",
every "Sorry Miss",
every "What can I do for you Ma'm",
every "You'll always be my niece-"
"My daughter",
"My girlfriend".

The cis questions,
cis answers,
cis stares,
cis disinterest in my ******* feelings.

I am not going to hold your hand
and politely explain to you that
I
AM
NOT
MY
GENITALS.
That's your job cis people.
Fix it.

Every misgendering is peeking through the veil
of how people really perceive you.
It's all just a game they play along
with in your presence.
Going along with a trance they think
you've put yourself in.

They don't really see you,
When all it takes is
changing a single word
in one ******* sentence.
That would be no inconvenience to them,
But makes or breaks the world to you.
Covering it up with a strained smile,
Lying that it's fine.

Is it even a question that over 70%
of trans people **** themselves,
as opposed to 1% of the general population.
It makes so much ******* sense to me.

Because trans means knowing
I will never be properly gendered by a stranger,
Unless I get a **** I don't ******* want.
Being trans is waking up everyday
with the guarantee you can not
use the bathrooms in public.

Can't be called a guy
Hearing: "Emmett? That's a weird girl's name."
Having people ignore you
When you're on the verge of tears
begging them not to see
your soft curves and small chest and skirt
as one big sign that says 'SHE'.

Then being told:
"It's not their fault,
people just don't know."
"You have to be more understanding,
more patient -
be nicer about it."

How 'bout applying that to yourself?
Don't tell me I have to be kinder
about being denied my identity everyday.
Don't tell me to shut up about a system
so ingrained in my brain
I still misgender myself.

It's gaslighting,
A society denying reality
And telling us we are the confused ones.
The crazy ones.
For veering outside these neat little boxes
ahem, cages
of made up rules
they've tried to lock us into.

The consequences are absolutely deadly.
Is it any question
That people bleed themselves dry
Get drunk, get high
just to escape it all?

Then get thrown into a 'health care system'
for attempted suicide,
get misgendered by the nurses and doctors
who ignore why they're there in the first place.
Then denied hormones for their
'mental instability'.

We are thrown into a world of glass ceilings
and imaginary borders
with all too real consequences.

Make no mistake,
We are not dangers to ourselves.
You absolutely put us here.

Blame it on whatever generation or
individual you want,
but we are all participating in cisnormativity
if you are not constantly unlearning.

If you equate genitals with gender,
Ask what the baby's going to be -
As if it ******* matters -
Don't think to ask pronouns and get it wrong,
See every character, every face on TV
that doesn't look like ours,
have everything catered
to the way you turned out to be,

That's privilege is our danger.
The gaps in judgement
and consideration for our situations
is where we live
and our destined to fall.

Because when someone hits you with a car
It doesn't matter of they didn't see  you,
didn't mean to,
have never done it before,
are the nicest person in the world -
They ****** up.
And it still hurts.

Sure, if they meant to
it would be worse,
But I'm through with this rhetoric
about intent.

Don't think this is too drastic a comparison,
Gender norms literally kills people.
Every mark of 'self-harm' on our arms
Is a scar society put there.
Every trans suicide is a ******.

The question isn't why
we are killing ourselves.
It's how the ****
are we still alive.

And then we are called *****’s
and feel like that is so much better.
As if it’s not the same derogatory word
now its just more “sophisticated.”
Used in lyric like it’s the only word that rhymes with everything.
Since its 2010 you think we are not like Emmett Till, but we are.
The only difference is we shoot our own guns and one by one we make our own selves obsolete.
The “N” word flowing out of the mouths of our newer generations as if it’s the government given name stamped on every black persons’ birth certificate.
Like there was never a revolution
Like there was never a fight to bring us up to what is seemingly equal to everyone else.
You are what brings us down again.
Hearing the yells of one black man to another in conversation “can a ***** get…”
(insert a stereotypical ending here)
No a ***** can’t get nothin’. That is what has been repeatedly told to the race as a whole.
Burned into our minds like the branding of a cow.
Each time the “N” word is uttered out of another’s mouth its like a gravitational pull that scientist have yet to discover.
More powerful than any black hole.
Like ***** in a barrel. We strive to keep the others at our level.
Ask Fredrick Douglas, it’s his expertise…
As he was one of the original ****** Breakers; we have multiplied the frequency and have unknowingly become professionals at something we never strived to be.
The “N” word flows out of our mouths and through the air like the historical dance it took to get us here.
The dance we have long forgotten but our bodies seem to react the same way whenever an Anglo-Saxon uses our coveted word.
Like it wasn’t the word they yelled as they made permanent welts on our backs that would last generations
Like it wasn’t what they yelled at us to strip away every individualistic quality
They referred to us as if we were herds
Like it wasn’t their term to begin with. We should let them have it.
We are like the modern generations of our ancestral princes and princesses of Africa.
As powerful as they once were, we have mastered fields that others wish they had a chance to accomplish in.
We were built to overcome any obstacle.Other than the obstacle of getting out of our own way.
It is no longer like the underground railroad.
There are no hounds chasing us through the waters.
****** should no longer be the tether that holds us down
We have the ability to soar like a majestic bird that shall always remain unnamed.
As “*****’s” we are nothing. As African American’s we are an impenetrable strength.