My Protector

When he doesn’t call my heart drops

it lives in my stomach.

This hyperactive dread lives in me.

Texts gone unanswered drives my mind crazy.

Overwhelmed by anticipation

and this inclination of his incarceration has me terrified.

I check the websites for bookings

but he’s not there...

“How long does it take?”

Flashes of him playing with my hair,

would it be the last time?

What petty crime could he have committed

besides being Black?

He works hard try’s to make a living...

Has someone stolen his light?

Images of my warm King laying cold in the night.

Dread in my stomach, “please answer..."

They don’t know of his work in the community,

his beautiful mind, his poetry.

Who will protect him?

His brothers Cain are too jealous, and Police ain’t willing, although able.

Not seen as his brother's keeper,

only seen by labels.

Who will protect him?

His hands ache from a life of fighting,

eyes hazy and worn from all that he has seen.

He calls me Queen,

but I am not always there to play my position,

to watch his back be his second sight.

They only see the color of his skin,

not the brilliance of his light

Who will protect him?

Our sons brothers husbands and kings,

who will protect them?