An Ode for a Murdered Black Son

I awoke this morning again hoping that this time, maybe this time justice would reign victorious. I have been flooded with much emotion and feeling stemming from the murder of Trayvon Martin, this beloved son of a Black mother’s womb. I have literally felt moments when I could not breath. This morning I have learned a repeated truth, Black sons are not safe, there is no justice for a Black male child nor Black males! Are White children the only children seen as human and worth protecting? Historically, White babies have suckled at the breasts of enslaved African women. Black women have always protected the massas children, nurtured them and loved them even when massa and missus didn’t. Our reward, rape, our children sold off, murdered, lynched and justice once again denied.

What happened in that juror room? Did five White woman see the murderer as their savior, someone protecting White womanhood and their way of life? Did these women only see the stereotypical mugger and rapist the media projects? Did they vote their fears? Did they vote in favor of hatred? Could they not see Trayvon the human being trying to return home with his soda and skittles, obviously not. There was no rainbow for Trayvon buried in the colors of his skittles.

Latina Mujer juror, did you fight for Trayvon? Did you try? Latina Mujer juror did you feel trapped? Latina Mujer juror was this your opportunity to disassociate from the African in your blood? Did you force your Black skin to denie itself? Latina Mujer juror did you go along to get along? Did you feel you had to prove to White society you could be fair, their fair? I am sickened and beyond disgusted! I cannot look at a package of skittles without seeing Trayvon running from the monster who stalked him and stole his life. Now, revealing your identity free of the deliberating room, you cry speaking of true belief begging our compassion and understanding. Your words and tears
are of no value. They will not imprison the monster your soul recognized. If the time should come, who will march and scream tears
for your son?

This morning when my brother, my nephews and friends call or visit I will hug them planting a kiss and my parting words will be said with my heart beating rapidly, memories and knowing of burning bodies, swinging from poplar trees and blood stained streets. “Be safe and cautious.”

©Lorraine Currelley 2013. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized duplication of this material without express and written permission from this author is strictly prohibited.

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2 thoughts on “An Ode for a Murdered Black Son

  1. It’s not just blacks mourning. There are whites just as heartbroken at the loss of justice. It’s a strike against all of us. Don’t think you’re alone.

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