What is Justice?

[IMAGE: Mural in Minneapolis by Xena Goldman, Cadex Herrera, Greta McLain, Niko Alexander, and Pablo Hernandez]


What is justice,

When the only proof of a lynching is the very image of it happening,

Again and again?

What is justice when this is the exception?

This is a sick feeling of knowing,

Nothing will bring back

The life battled for,

Too little too late,

What is justice when the very judgement brings with it a greater sense of fear for those of deeper pigmentation?

For vigilante retribution? Revenge?

Why does the hammer of judgement only

Bring to mind more images

More worries

of breathless lungs,

bodies burning,

Of bodies swinging;

That strange fruit

Our people know too well?

May our prayers of peace,

Of this first as a trend

Be met with a  change,

A shift,

Be met with true justice,

–Let [it] “roll down like waters

and righteousness like a mighty stream”

The Justice Salve

Black and brown bodies
Have been desecrated,
Sacred structures
Have been desecrated,
Democracy
Has been desecrated,
By hungry hands,
Seizing power,
From lives, minds, hearts,
It is taken,
To feed a machine,
That converts likes
Into hateful rhetoric,
That converts hateful rhetoric
Into costed lives,
We stand on stolen ground,
Watered with the blood and tears
Of ancestors,
Who could see but not fully know
The scope of all,
Of what really was,
Or was to come,
We stand because our forebears fought
For the right to stand shoulder to shoulder,
To link hands,
In community of giddy multitude,
That makes the powerful quake,
We stand because
We have been desecrated,
And justice
Is the only salve
For these wounds.

Lungs

“I can’t breathe,”
He said,
And the choke held,
And he couldn’t breathe,
Until he couldn’t live,
We can’t breathe,
We are dying,
Everyday,
Physically,
Mentally,
Emotionally,
The choke holds,
Until no air can pass through bruised lungs,
Until no life can fill our vessels,
This is all part of the plan,
The slow deflation of lungs.