Closed Book, TM

A poem for Trayvon Martin

his name spoken fewer times

probably only whispered with cluttered sighs

when televisions expose hints of 1955 mentalities

that have poorly progressed after national ballots are counted

his story probably nowhere near a writer's hands

an editor's layout plan

a publisher's latest text book

his pain tucked in the nooks and crannies of nightmares come and gone

he lives on only in a google search

and the moments worth holding onto in his mother's memory

he is vapor

and we see him not

what conundrum

what tragedy

what shame upon my heart

to open the book of injustice

but read only part one

a story undone

a book closed

a tale of old

and yet it still rings new

and sadly true

that there are some things we have yet to get

 

right