There are memories attached,
With each day, I keep re-living,
Years go by, it does not matter.
There are things I keep feeling,
Your absence does not bother.

I see the marks your feet leave,
You wander but not that farther,
Away from me, here is my plea,
That on days like these i miss,
A piece of myself taken from me.

I am stuck in this lapse of time.

Like any other Friday
I wake up early
get ready and
go work

but...

today,
I heard them,
and paused as I took
that first step out of the front door

the screams of my ancestors,

the desperate plea from
wrongly accused men,

the last words and breathe
of every black man,
woman,
and child
murdered in cold blood...

I heard their warning.
“Don’t go.”

I called off work.


- a.r.Camm