How to raise a black boy
Or how to raise dying things
Or how to grow oak trees from concrete
Or how to turn 50 cents into three meals
Or how the streets make meals out of
brown skin
Or how brown skin settles into pavement
by morning
Or how we all felt his dreams spill
beneath or footsteps
Or how the system blames us for the mess
they made
Or how the street corners feel like an
auction block
Or how they sold us this American Dream
Or how they cut us this American Pie
Or how no one left a slice for boys with
mahogany skin
Or how no one taught they mommas to love
life back into breathless things
Or how no one told they mommas they was
birthing tombstones
Or how they carve tombstones from our
baby’s test scores
Or how to pass a test you never knew was
coming
Or how to fail a test you never knew was
there
Or how to walk out of handcuffs made for
your wrists
Or how to not love your hood
Or how to not dap your kin
Or how to not do what it takes to make
ends meet
Or how to solve a 400 word puzzle with five
pieces
Or how to color inside the lines when
you ain’t got no crayons
Or how to play free at recess
Or how to walk home from third grade 50
years old
Or how to be born a thug, a killer, a
shaken bottle of angry man
Or how to not be angry, man
Or how to see black mommas weeping over
walking dead babies
Or how to not see no momma at all
Or how they call the closest thing to
Home a project
Or how they tear the project down and
build a Starbucks can’t nobody afford to drink at
Or how to make it out the hood they keep
such a tight lid on
Or how to sleep and make gun shots your
alarm clock
Or how they sell us guns, but don’t sell
us books
Or how to beautiful and brilliant in
Black bodies
Or how to be more than Black bodies
Or how to be living and growing and
thriving things
Or how to avoid unfortunate things
Or how to die as quietly as you have
lived
Or how to not live at all
Or how they sold us this American Dream
Or how they cut us this American Pie
Or how no one left a slice for boys with
mahogany skin
