“You can’t write poems about the trees when the woods are full of policemen.”
………………………………………………………………………………………. —Bertolt Brecht
Broken Ghazal for Walter Scott
A video looping like a dirge on repeat, my soul—a psalm of bullets in my back.
I see you running, then drop, heavy hunted like prey with eight shots in the back.
You: prostrate on the green grass, handcuffed with your hands tied to your back.
for taking the blindfold off Lady Justice, dipping her scales down with old weight
another black body, another white cop. But let us go back to the broken tail light,
Papa. Let us chant Papa don’t run! Stay, stay back! Stay here with us. But Tiana—
another story will come to your feed, stay back. But whisper—stay, once more,
with tiny hallelujahs up & down the harp of his back. Praise his mother hugging
we go back, click replay at any moment. A video looping like a dirge on repeat—
by Tiana Clark
from I Can’t Talk About Trees Without the Blood
University of Pittsburgh Press, 2018