Ezekiel Robinson

"A Letter to the Beckoned

Perching pecking against the wind,

The mother cries at the separation from her child.

Her wails flutter the rafters and the blades.

It is home to both of them but for one it is The only home they've ever known.

I can't sleep here. I can't eat here. I can't breathe here.

Will the singing ever return to me?

Show up in the face of this dichotomy.

Within the lines inside of this Wendy's parking lot, Reverberating inside of the hollow drum

Carved out of her dreams.

I must grab the gun before my existence continues to be erased.

Self-leaning self-helping self-loving, Until we start to run mad.

One foot after the other with the Weight of this country on my back, Beckoned by Hart-Cellar of 1965.

And if I attempt to cocoon in the cracks of freedom, There you are

In the azaleas of Cape Coast, And the orchids of Oaxaca.

From soil to ear

Rejoicing the existence of you my sister.

The silence shines through the clouds.

Brightly against the iniquity of evil."

—Rukevwe Aror