By Blu H.H.
I’ve noticed your smile these days.
Your tendencies with touch and how good it feels to hold something that won’t slip away.
Black boy, call to the heavens.
Let them hear a roar so loud that you finally let the tears drop.
Black boy, you got skin that feels like survival.
Hands that feel soft despite your roughness.
And Black boy, do your eyes always twinkle when you talk about your joys?
Do your eyes always scrunch like that when you laugh?
Black boy, if I told you that within a conversation
I could show you a whole new world, would you listen?
Black boy, would you open a galaxy?
Unlock a treasure trove of the memories you hide deep inside your box,
under your bed and away from all the monsters?
Black boy, call home.
If your past answers, would you hang up?
Black boy, call home.
If the circumstances arose would you have shown me your galaxy?
Black boy, I called you one day.
Called so many times when I knew your phone was off.
I recited the stories you told me on your voicemail.
I left my laughter in your voice memos.
Black boy, tell me this: if I was here, and you were there, would you have hit my line?
Would you have dropped pieces of yourself inside of letters and left a trail for me to follow?
Black boy, be careful in unlocking yourself.
Just because it looks like a light, it doesn’t mean it is.
And Black man, you are raising a black light from the ground up with a smile so wide it can’t
help but show light through the teeth that are missing.
Black man, if we place both palms on opposite sides of the glass would you look at me?
Would we attempt to push with all our might until one side caves in?
Black man, phone home.
Call your mother so she knows you still have a heartbeat.
Black man, when you phone home, if you need to talk, know you can hit my line.
Know that I would listen to every word.
Black Boys, when you get the chance, you have a call waiting.
Answer it.
I’ll be waiting to hear about your adventures on the other side.
Leave a Reply