inhale. hold.
I. Mississippi Air 1958
Droplets of moisture float in the breeze this afternoon
usual and ordinary here,
beads of water, so tiny they become invisible.
Swallowed up day and night,
by symmetrical needles of bald cypress,
stately polished leaves of southern magnolia,
clusters of crape myrtle.
A breeze drifts, perhaps soft and soothing- in some moments
but not ours.
Drifting between layers of inspiration and expiration
in our moment, soft is suspended,
and cannot be persuaded to return.
Tidily tucked under a wooden rocking chair
is a very young girl in yellow shorts, calico top and canvas sneakers.
As she imagines beyond this narrow porch- a real story reveals,
uninvited.
She is small enough to fit in secretive places just like a mouse.
Watching.
Fear permeates the air as the breeze stands still.
With great precision her skeletal muscles freeze in place
and vision narrows just like a fox, for deeper watching.
White girl.
Your matching hat, impeccable suit,
bow tie for perfect accompaniment.
Adorning a distinguished tall and long stride.
A stride that defines a courteous man crossing an innocent street.
Inhale.
Your matching hat has toppled….
Hold.
Black man.
She watches as the wolf pack approaches,
randomly they move from one street corner, kitty-corner.
Shaped like men these wolves gather and form – as if by magic.
True wolves, alpha, beta, epsilon, zeta, mu and chi- rank for survival
keep purposeful rhythm with nature.
These are men, another species.
Marching in swift unison,
they wear faded overalls, rolled sleeves and dirt-caked work boots.
These men leashed by illusion of superiority,
noses so low they could kiss the unforgiving concrete,
warming asphalt, or the grass- so green.
Hard breezes over hard Mississippi ground.
Following you.
With swift agility and calm you duck low for retrieval,
keeping focus,
as silently the pack howls.
Wincing pain sweeps through the girl in yellow shorts, calico top
and canvas sneakers beneath the rocking chair.
Pain reaches to the deepest center point of bones- harrowing,
as your black hat topples.
Grace. Pleading.
Inhale. Don’t run.
Is this command heard from within?
Child eyes long to scream “Run, Run!”
The wolf pack continues to approach….
As her heart muscles drum violently within,
enduring beyond time as moments blur.
Overcome by a primal urge to rear back, to stand up,
she imagines dislodging the predators from your back.
Hard breezes over Mississippi ground.
The heart,
Yours. Walking across the innocent street
Hers. Tucked tightly under the wooden rocking chair,
She trembles, pleading for Grace,
… just like a beggar with a bowl.
Inhale. Hold.
II. Florida Air 2012
On this moonlit winter evening
stillness is poised in every breath,
usual and ordinary here,
beads of water so tiny they become invisible.
Swallowed up day and night,
by symmetrical needles of bald cypress,
stately polished leaves of southern magnolia…
clusters of crape myrtle.
Eastern screech owl Megascops asio
is here in this moment.
Feather and branch pair to create supreme camouflage.
As small as a robin, the owl fits in secretive places
far above the hard Florida ground.
Watching.
Stillness drapes the night like a heavy cloak as you enter,
and as you leave.
Young man walks with head covered,
perhaps providing protection from within or without.
We don’t know.
The screech owl calls out
a lonely scream into the dark night
as a man approaches you,
fear permeates the still, Florida night air.
Confrontation follows amid the declaration of pursuit-
told to halt “not to follow” the man in the car follows you.
Nose so low, it could kiss the unforgiving concrete,
warm asphalt, or grass- so green.
Hard stillness over hard Florida ground.
Following you.
Threat is declared authority and ultimatum is pronounced.
Heart muscles drum violently as possibilities
narrow and disappear in the night.
“Don’t Run” “Don’t Fight”
Inhale.
For you have become prey.
For you cannot stand your ground.
For you, the color of your skin dictates every move.
Hold.
Black man.
Screechless owl is the only one watching tonight.
As the young man walked,
just walked…. on a moonlit Florida night.
III. With Liberty and Justice for All
Awaiting birth.
Such a long and excruciating labor.
Centuries turn and turn again,
words echo endlessly through our dark and cavernous history.
Trickster words “liberty and justice for all,” change shape like the sky.
Breathless.
Upper New York Bay suspends the symbolic island,
our goddess of liberty promises freedom and equality for all.
Is this story in our imagination?
searching the shoreline desperately as waters ebb and flow.
Suffering continues as decades stack, weighted, one on the next.
Real. Ideal, Real. Ideal.
With liberty and justice for all.
for who?
white skinned people with plenty can depend and demand,
others await hazard.
Justice bobs in the New York Bay
unsteady as she goes.
Choppy waters obscure promises,
promises formed with words void of shape and action
Due process of the law?
Verdicts built on illusions of superiority and
racist foundation.
Legislation doomed toward inequality from initial
mark of pen to paper.
The United States of America moves in stormy seas
with fatal consequence…
Yet we seek you…. Justice.
Trembling hearts and troubled minds endure
without interruption we move as choppy waters prevail.
Justice for all, we endure in our quest toward you.
N.L. Reynolds