So I thought that was done.
But there's so much going on.
And I mean, we could talk about this in terms of process.
But I think, again, and it's so great
to have this under the rubric of spectacle.
Because then, I thought, well, is that enough?
When you think about something like that happening,
is it enough to turn to metaphor?
It seems like looking away is inappropriate.
So then, I wrote a poem called "A Poem that does Nothing."
And this is not the main poem.
These are just scraps on the way to our conversation, I guess.
So I haven't gotten to the Ai poem yet.
But this is "A Poem that does Nothing."
After their deaths, the Black men, women, and children,
I wanted to sing the song I'd heard once
about men killing a poor old horse in a tanner's yard.
Except, I wanted to make the horse a small black bird
and the men a white child.
And I wanted to sing it before American ears.
After singing Black Lives Matter,
Black Lives Matter, in the end, I couldn't articulate,
not to mention sing, much more.
My voice cracked.
I sang the words with fear or some adjacent feeling.
The small black bird beneath the stone, the small white boy
slammed down made the sound of a human voice in the field
beyond his house.
And my voice cracked.
But what I wanted to ask is whether it
matters whether it is a poor old horse or a blackbird,
whether the men are a little more than boys,
whether their parents were too kind or too cruel
with them, whether some mean or indifferent Black person
threatened or abuse them?
I can't think of any stories about adult Blacks bringing
harm to white children, though, I
suppose it could have happened.
Anything is possible after one has lived for a little while.
And after a white boy turns his gun
on a room full of children in the north,
and then upon himself, I suppose you have to assume God is wild.
I wanted to know whether you think it matters whether it's
a horse or Blacks in the south, whether it's elementary school
children in the north or a small black bird,
whether madness, grief, stupidity, or fear,
or some adjacent feeling comes before violence.
After trying to talk about it, I want
to sing for a little while.