He was not from these parts; a big city teen.
At Five – Six not imposing, he was barely fourteen.
A big city teen with a bit of a mouth,
which was bad for a black man in the heart of the South.

A warm summer day in an old country store,
The white girl was a looker; that much was sure.
Emmitt Till whistled for he was impressed
With how good that girl looked in that tight fitting dress.

That girl had a husband, a big burly man.
He was a bad man to cross for he rode with the ****.
He and his cousin sought out Emmitt Till.
If a man can die slowly they both swore this one will.

The two held Emmitt captive in an old wooden barn.
They strung him up with barbed wire and broke both of his arms.
They gouged out one eye for the pleasure of pain
Then they dragged out to the river his mortal remains.

His poor mother wept when she saw what they’d done;
How they’d tortured and murdered her beloved son.
She mourned, open casket, and word soon got out
How Black men were killed in the Heart of the South.

The law found Till’s killers and brought them to court.
But the jury was friendly (or else they were bought).
The two killers went free, smiling, down the court steps.
But their sins lit a fire folks here won’t forget.

After Till’s death Civil Rights was the cause
There were marches and protests; the movement changed laws
The ****’s hold would be broken; of that do not doubt,
And, slowly, things changed in the heart of the South.

He looks at me hard, with disproval or disbelief, I cannot tell
He blinks twice, fast
Licks his lips in anticipation
Because what he is about to say can be taken so many ways
A lot of them badly

“Dude, you date her?”
“Yeah, I do”
“You love her?”
“Yeah, I do”
“You kiss her?”
“Yeah, I do”
“But she’s---” (shuts up)
“Yeah, she is”

Black
Before he spouts out another protest
before he blinks twice, licks his lips all over again
And points out that Asians shouldn’t date black girls
false
I ask him to take a look at what we’re both wearing
Black
Because quite simply, black looks good

So does she

He asks me why,
and I proceed to give him more reasons on why I date a black girl
than Republicans can against Obamacare
1: Black looks good
2: She’s a track star; runs like a horse
3: that’s really hot
4: Her eyes turn me into the walls of Jericho; I crumble down without resistance
5: She has the most beautiful smile that I have ever seen
6: I don’t need a 6

A thought for the public
If Beyonce dumped Jay-Z due to a sudden hunger for Asian men
Posted online for all the “single calculus geniuses” to meet her at a certain point
on a coordinate plane
I guarantee you that she’ll find a crowd bigger than both of their reputations combined
They’ll come in droves, driving like fanatics
You got your Tokyo Drift, your Jeremy Lin, your Mario Kart
and your blinker left on for the last 5 miles

Another idea to chew on
When my sister was asked who was the most attractive man in Hollywood
her response time was faster than Usain Bolt’s
She picked Anthony Mackie; I see some of ya’ll nodding
She even nicknamed him “Black Beauty”

Well my Black Beauty is in this room
She’s my own Queen B
Got me so drunk in love
My friends be scanning the sky for Cupid
Sending arrows from above

So why do people question the logic on whom I date
If I love her, that should overcome all misgivings
Not like they should’ve existed in the first place

I implore him to revisit this nation 170 years ago
when ***** wasn’t yet a racial term
rather it was the sound of the clanking of metal to railroad
as the slaves built train tracks for this country to be connected

To this day we still have more Emmitt Tills than we ever should
Trayvon Martin
Sean Bell
Oscar Grant
Rhamarley Graham
Jonathan Ferrell
The list goes on and on
Just like the subtle discriminations the black race still endures

At this point he might say that I am off topic, overboard
that I don’t have a clue of what I’m talking about
He’s only partially right because I am Asian
Not black, but yellow
But I can relate just a bit

And even to this day, white boys in school halls try to talk black because they think its ****
Rich women still clutch their purses tighter upon seeing you in public
Nervous people in elevators still eye you and your tats and make bogus assumptions
Authorities still follow you just because you’re wearing an oversized hoodie,
sagging your pants, and showing off your under armour

You know why these people point and stare and whisper
when laying eyes on you
making you feel like you’re courtside at a Clippers game
Some do it out of elitism and habit
Others out of fear
And some do it because quite simply, black looks good

And even though I intended to stop at 5,
He now has millions of reasons on why it’s ok I date a black girl
And rest assured, he is not the only one who needed to hear them

He blinks twice, licks his lips one final time
“But she’s black dude”
“Yeah, she is”
But she is so much more

By: Cedric McClester

Paranoia tends to grow
Cuz people fear what
They don’t know
Still they refuse to learn
And so
We still have quite
A ways to go

Conveniently we forget
Our ugly history
And yet
We fail to feel
A sense of debt
And rarely show
Any regret

I remember
Lynchings still
And truthfully
I always will
Think about
Poor Emmitt Till
By now I think
You know the drill

America the beautiful
Hasn’t always been
Benevolent when it comes
To men of colored skin
But this is now
And that was then
So I guess
We just pretend






Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016,  All rights reserved.

Correct me if I'm wrong,
but I'm pretty sure I anthropologized after that dirt came up ,
dug myself a deeper hole, 
gotta learn when to shut up,
my feelings fossilized like **** I ****** up,
yea I ***** her - but that was way before we had made up,
that's why I see through you like glass when you lie and say you're not tempered,
cause you're still stained with emotions, even after my fi is sempered,
your words are tinted in the way you throw in shade,
and them ***** cut deep - apologies sharpened the blades,
lost my touch - my tunnels carpeled and feelings fade,
on my last nerve - how much before it can't be saved,
as of late...our interactions have been nothin short of taxin',
taxidermy of it's old self,
and it's a tall order for you to sit down and relax man,
my words massaged more than 40 aches and pains away
and when you felt broken I lent tools,
I listened to every gripe and grievance,
and for your burdens I was your mule,
you were my muse then but now it's far from amusing,
I visit the museum of memories for my amusement, 
often make withdrawals from my memory bank from when the fun was mutual,
there was a point and time your words used to paint murals, 
now I'm stuck in somewhere, nowhere
lost my courage and my muriel,
Now I'm ruthless as eustace,  
after my efforts proved to be useless,
im used to this, I use this - pen to write my wrongs, then I put it in a song,
I fell weak , at first strong,
This plight is too long,
my heart breaks constantly for your constant needs,
and subconsciously I know you not the break my conscious needs,
still can be my trinity but now I'm feelin more (like) Constantine, 
let's fulfill  the prophecy your the fishburne to my Keanu Reeves, 
you play hard ball so there's no need to draft replacements, 
always find myself running back - I'm Emmitt Smith if you Troy Aikman,
I'm Liam Neeson and you the reason my heart is taken,
I need amnesia these memories I see are forsaken, 
This is all new to me , maybe cause im used to you,
can't do much these days without reminders of what we used to do,
maybe I should let it be a bygone how you python,
but I'd shed skin before I shed tears,
And if our conclusion is forgone,
thats one of my worst fears,
you remind of that song I can't remember.
or that place that I've never been to.
that movie I never seen.
or that experience I've never been through, they say 7 days without prayer can make one weak,
everyday you're not there I get less sleep,
I propose a writ of habeas corpus, 
For the miscellaneous corpses that lie in her wake,
My thoughts are both heinous & cautious, 
still my candidate for this caucus,
for heaven sake..

Hell is shaped for the hand of a wishful, foolish painter
Its caverns wait for us to paint over the mistakes again
And again
And again the walls become crude and rough under the layers of our harm.

I was on the brick and cobblestones one afternoon, among groups of wishful oppressors, their hands clenched in dried paint. They ask how to scrub it off. They’ve heard “Black Lives Matter” but they don’t know where, or when.
It’s here, and now, and everywhere, and always.

Hell is shaped like my young metatarsals, creaking and aching under some unrealized purpose.
Hell is shaped like a ladder that my ancestors soaked in lighter fluid
And waited for everyone else to scramble up.

Hell is shaped like venom tongues and weapons alchemied in colonialism’s genocide. It’s also shaped like disposable responsibility and eyes that stray from the fire and like greed in the flag with nails in the palm.

I was brought up in a stolen, and false, but beautiful and loving safety. I would give my sense of direction to let someone else’s baby have a memory of swimming the meters from one parent to the other in the shallows if the ocean– so small, so humbled, but so, so safe.

I was in a park when I had to write a lawyer’s defense fund number on my forearm. A cop car trailed our peaceful protest like an unwanted lantern. I am grateful, but maybe not well-deserved, to say that is the most scared I’ve ever been.

Hell is shaped like too-loose strings on an old guitar. No matter the harmonic chord, there will always be dissonance in the punishment of created evils.

I was not raised to believe in hell. I’ve been told by the outlying sign that it waits for me. I still think it is a metaphor. I wave my rainbow flag and breathe through my white skin. I am kneeling to be knighted by my moms and waiting to pull up those lying down. But I can’t reach for Dominique or Layla or Brayla or Tony or Muhlaysia or any of the names I’ve been burdened to forget because they are not here. I can’t reach for Michael, or Emmitt, or Breonna, or George, Ahmaud, Daunte, Eric, Sandra, Toyin, Trayvon, Elijah, or Moses.

Hell is shaped like a twisted funeral florist. It makes me want to scream, “God, let me have enough arms and energy to hold as many flowers as I can”, because I need to give them out while everyone is still here.

Scrolling through newsfeed
I read
Emmitt Till's historical marker
Had to be made bulletproof
and weigh 500 lbs so as to not be removed.
In some states,
Courts fight for Confederate statues
To stand tall.
There's a tragedy somewhere in it all
I'm sure,
But I don't know what to do about it.

When you sleep the poetry of life conspires with the entire universe
picking places, materials, and dates

just today it leaned over and said “September 23rd” and then whispered Emmitt Till & Breonna Taylor