attended a poetry workshop with cheryl boyce-taylor at imani house in brooklyn today. i am not a poet by any measure, but there is a poem in my memoir collection that i wanted to workshop, so i went. a former student of audre lorde, cheryl was thoughtful, soulful, encouraging. i went in feeling just so-so, but left filled with reverence for the ways in which we women tell our own stories.

i wanted to share the group poem we wrote, one at a time, by passing a piece of paper around in a circle. having just read ta-nehisi's article, it seemed fitting to dedicate this as-yet-untitled poem to sybrina fulton, trayvon martin's mother. i still weep for him, for the countless others sacrificed needlessly for the sake of ego and power.  enjoy. --AL.

a litany for sybrina (trayvon martin's mother)

i.
this journey is kicking my ass. i've walked a
thousand miles
in 100% sun burning my
naked flesh.
i'll get to the
other side when
God
says it's time.

ii.
i want my son's brown
nutty arms around me
his voice shouting
his voice shouting my name
"Mama"
shouting out loud till his throat
is sore--i want to be free!--
a wide open meadow with
trees lining the borders and the
wild mix-up calls of
unknown birds and strange unseen
animals in the undergrowth
i want my son free, his
voice free to sing his song, rising
in the air above the
birds and the clouds and the
atmosphere--higher, higher to the
heavens
and the blessings to come back down, cover
this earth,
protect this family,
our world.