A Mother’s Missing Song, Trayvon Martin

trayvon3

The “clean your room” “do you have homework”
“bring me your dirty clothes”
are tunes mothers sing
on deaf ears of children
who dance the slow drag
every week to these commands.

But these are our moments. The mother/son
tango. The mother/daughter
watusi.
the spinning disco ball being
a flailing shoe / a raised voice bouncing against the wall
these are our moments

along with those shoes she swore
she’d never buy you / but did
the birthday cake she said you didn’t deserve / but she baked
and, you still / woke to balloons tied to your bed post.

trayvon1

The sound of your feet running in the house
or
taking a too long shower
or
slamming the car door
are songs adorned to Mother’s ears.

and your song is now missing from her playlist.
your name marinates the soil from strangers
across the world
and mother’s always say don’t speak to strangers
but you do
caused us to wear hoodies
paint your name on posters
walk the emotional streets with the concrete thought of,
“I am Trayvon Martin”
your young soul became a root before a fully developed
branch
flowers not yet named / leaves not quite tamed

while the world speaks your name
a Mother is missing a song.

trayvon9a Mother is missing a song.

Happy Birthday Trayvon, we remember you

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