Kalief

I'm watching you on the screen; I swallow back the despondent lump that quakes at the base of my throat.

I see that you are special. Precious. Worthy. Just because you are Alive.

I'm listening to your sweet, soft voice struggling to articulate your "all the way down and back up” psychic pain to this faceless audience.

“Is it safe?” (Did they look away?)

I'm watching the way you hold yourself; the way you're sitting, the way you tilt your head when you're talking; the look in your sad eyes; your hunched shoulders, your twisted neck, your nervous hands, your awkward ankles, and your wandering feet.

“Am I okay?” (No.)

I want to slowly and safely lift my hand where it will land softly on your back; my eyes would kindly find your eyes and I would be your support and I would listen to your broken heart hurt hopeless driven words spilling from your innocent mouth.

“I missed the prom.” (Sweet-heart.)

One chance. All I needed was one chance to run to you. No.

Race, as your life depends upon swift action.

I needed that chance to race to you like I was running from death—a death who has been nipping at Our heels since before this, my most recent birth. I would have raced like that. To you.  To hold you in my arms. I wouldn’t ever let go.

Until you were ready to. Let go.

No more time. (O’ Prince, O’ Prince!)

Oh Kalief. Sweet and precious child. You magnificent, divine, curious, and wise child.

Pierced and tortured too. This country did that. Does that.

Oh Kalief. I sank to my knees and I cried. I cried.

I cried.

 "Kalief!" "Kalief!”

I am so sorry they hurt you.
I am so sorry you had to live that.
You are strong and deep and soft and gentle and suffering and surviving and scared and hopeful and brave. And Free.

Now you are Free. But you should be free, 

Here and now. 

You are brave.

I see you.

I see you, Kalief.

Your meaningful, miraculous life was not in vain. But you should here. I love you. I believe that there are so many who love you. Who will fight for you, for us. I will fight for us all. You taught me to...

...stay the course.