![]() ![]() I say good-bye before anyone can hang up. ![]() If I called I’d say good-bye before I broke the good-bye. ![]() The sky is the silence of brothers all the days leading up to my call. Those years of and before me and my brothers, the years of passage, plantation, migration, of Jim Crow segregation, of poverty, inner ci ti es, pr ofi li ng, of on e in th re e, tw o jo bs, bo y, he y bo y, ea ch a fe lo ny, accumulate into the hours inside our lives where we are all caught hanging, the rope inside us, the tree inside us, its roots our limbs, a throat sliced through and when we open our mouth to speak, blossoms, o blossoms, no place coming out, brother, dear brother, that kind of blue. If I knew another way to be, I would call up a brother, I would hear myself saying, my brother, dear brother, my dearest brothers, dear heart- On the tip of a tongue one note following another is another path, another dawn where the pink sky is the bloodshot of struck, of sleepless, of sorry, of senseless, shush. And as yet I do not understand how my own sorrow has turned into my brothers’ hearts. This is not a secret though there are secrets. A book of poems comprising of seven chapters and criticisms, which delve into what it means to be black, in todays climate. They will never forget our way through, these brothers, each brother, my brother, dear brother, my dearest brothers, dear heart- Your hearts are broken. In this fiery episode the guys take a look at the multi-award winning book, Citizen: An American Lyric by Claudia Rankine. Then there are these days, each day of our adult lives. It looked like we rescued ourselves, were rescued. What is that memory? The days of our childhood together were steep steps into a collapsing mind. ![]() They will never forget that we are named. ![]()
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