let the angels sing
NIESHA RADOVANIC
Because it smelled of ivory in Money, Mississippi,
Because he and the boys were plucking pieces of cotton,
Because the scorching sun slipped sweat down their backs,
Because the meat market was hungry for a new taste of color,
Because a black boy blew bubbles of sugar,
Because the clickety-clack of the cash register made the clerk
snap, her husband had to crackle POP.
Because the meat market men know how to slaughter locks,
Because countin’ sheep turn you into dead meat,
Because a .22 turned the boy’s hue,
Because lead piercing through his head was not enough
to teach little boys to hush.
Because the cotton gin separated flesh with barbed wire as a necklace,
Because the little boy still wore his daddy's ring, Uncle Wright told
his sister to let the angels sing.
Because the black boy birthed a whistle his lips turned blue.
For Emmitt Till