I see you, black brother
dancing in the subway
Your children and wife laughing,
ready to exit the train.
And I wonder: May I go with you?
Black brother, I see you
with your loafers and backpack
and physics book in hand,
Waiting to sprint once the doors slide open.
And I wonder: May I sprint along with you?
You, black brother, I see
sitting on the platform bench,
resting against your shopping cart
of hand-picked bottles and rags.
And I wonder: May I sit and rest with you?
Black brother, you, I see
wearing your dinosaur shirt,
beaming a proud strawberry ice-cream-coated grin.
And I wonder: May I scoop you in my arms and never let you go again?
I worry about you, brother, every time we meet, and I wonder
if a young white-skinned woman is what you need in your possession to keep you safe.
To get you home alive.
Because I see you, dear brother,
as a human being.
One that matters so goddamn much to me.