The green grass is starting to look more purple
Now that your blood has been splattered on it.
Tears hit the blades of grass turning the royal purple
Into a soft periwinkle.
How is that an eight year old boy,
Is now fighting for his life in the blink of an eye?
Is looking at the sky, not by choice.
But because the red sports car kept going.
The sun, at its highest point — not a tree in sight.
The screeching of my mechanical pencil,
Filled my ears. The chunk a chunk of an ice machine — now my heart’s voice.
The high pitched beep of my Kia’s horn, surrounded me.
The doors of the red sports car unlocked — my screams turned the key.
The brakes did not screech until my feet began to run to the road.
The white tiger mommy loved, passed in my mind just as she did two months before.
The German shepherd like energy the eight year old boy had was taken.
Tears began to flow like the creamy pasta sauce I had for dinner,
Now fighting its way back up into my throat.
The tears in my eyes hit my parted lips filling my mouth with their saltiness,
Fighting for ownership of my taste buds.
The sourness of the two combined strained my screams.
The frustration flowing through my body gave my voice a little more power.
The pain in my chest made moving my legs a little harder.
The happiness I once had faded away each step I took closer to your body.
Although that happiness was taken away from you,
It was brought back to me in the form of a black citizen watch.
Returned to me upon finding the ruby and gold bracelet once worn by mommy,
Its jagged yet smooth texture took me back to a time when days were full of joy.
The silkiness of saying Davis Clan Eight is no longer
A luxury I have. It is now falling from my tongue,
Like rocks off the side of a mountain experiencing weathering.
My emotional state of being has been weathered.
Broken down by life’s happenings.
The happy and joyous parts of me to flow
Into rivers and oceans moving them farther and farther
Away from my heart.
Everything I once knew — like how to properly feel,
How to allow emotions of all sorts come and go as necessary,
Floated away from my body, into a cave now calling itself my mind.
Trees have leaves — like leaves, my ideas of wholeness fell.
Why does water freeze?
Never on command like my feelings —
Only when placed in extreme temperatures — emotions,
Were once so free and flowing like rivers and oceans.
Malachi, Mali, baby boy of eight years old.
Eight year old boy you have now left this world.
Far too soon.
With you went my hope for a life that would be pain free.