May 19, 2015

So I guess it won’t be a bullet

Written by Danez Smith

Read by Phillip B. Williams

becoming a little moon — brightwarm in me one night.
Thank God. I can go quietly. The doctor will explain death
& I’ll go practice.

In the catalogue of ways to kill a black boy, find me
buried between the pages stuck together
with red sweet stick. Ironic, predictable. Look at me.

I’m not the kind of black man who dies on the news.
I’m the kind that grows thinner & thinner & thinner
until light outweighs us, & we become it, family
gathered around my barely body telling me to go
toward myself.

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