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To echo as the light had echoed
on the hour when it was all
that was left in the house
that was home to stuffy silences
and stray bullets
of dreams

to feel what the hush must have felt
when it fell
in the narrow gaps between gunshots
brushing past the last words
snatched from his lips
and the certainty that he was dead

to speak his name
a year too late
and be the anger drawn like cursed lots
on the lottery of living
and being kept in the dark
like dirty, lie stained secrets

to believe what the city believes
when it takes up the fight
another day

to bleed on the edges of the torn open
blindness, and replace
one handicap for another
and not be afraid
to ask for change
like children
who look at the leafless trees
and ask questions about the future
as if the connection were
as natural to them as
opening their eyes after
a night of sleep

“Hands Up Don’t Shoot” by photographer Kyle Cameron


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