every morning now it seems
you wake into the darkest hour
crying out for warmth and safety
mother’s milk
for comfort more than hunger
and I ache to hold you close
and still stay woke
when every morning now it seems
I wake into the darkest hour
of a nation’s fear and hatred
and I am tired
I am tired of waking up to blood
I am tired of waking up to death
I am tired of waking up to
brown bodies, black bodies
crying out for warmth and safety
inalienable rights
made alien
I just want to close my eyes
but I will not
I will not
I will choose to keep them open
(tear-streaked, bleary as they are)
that I might be a witness,
standing watch for justice even through
these darkest hours,
seeing things I do not want to see
because, my love,
my fair-skinned child
sleeping in my arms–
you and I have work to do
if there’s to be a dawn
poem (c) 2016 D. Ohlandt
please only reprint in entirety and with credit given
#40for40