we’re all searching
for something
yet to be named
yet to be penciled in our journals and on our bodies
with our hands
we search
in good times, sure
but mostly when hell breaks loose
in our countries and in our homes and in our minds
what we’re searching for
who knows
i heard a mother say peace and enough food to feed grief or at least enough to last until the 1st
and a father say peace and enough smoke to feed grief or at least keep rage from killing today
and their child…well
the the child is dead
drowned five midnights ago by her own Black body or perhaps because of it
who knows
but if she were alive, I imagine her saying
air
air enough to breathe new life into dying things or at least enough to name the thing on the tip of my tongue