For Mothers Who Share Their Sons After Death
By Eva Song Margolis
After the inconceivable phone call,
viewing what broken pieces remain of her child,
after the burial
the lawyers & the advocates
a mother, still mourning her son,
speaks to insane-made-normal lies.
They told her:
Trayvon Martin armed himself with concrete
Oscar Grant deserved to be “tasered”
Vincent Chin could have died by striking his head on the concrete
Fong Lee would have lived a short life anyways ‘cause he was in a gang
Kenneth Chamberlain should have opened his door
Amadou Diallo looked suspect on his stoop
They told her:
or belonged too much
didn’t pull over, put down, hush, kneel, kowtow
They flap their jaws with fear.
They cover their fear with blaspheme.
They use the same devices they’ve used before
to deceive people who hunger to be deceived.
A thin-spirit people who will not see
how they reflect their fears upon her son.
Though they look at him through a microscope,
they do not see him.
It is not him they fear.
That magnifying glass upon my son
made him large and full of potential in my eyes.
When I was pregnant, I ate pomegranates
to sew his future sweet.
He was chubby as a child.
Loyal as a friend,
He majored in cheerfulness.
He used to keep pigeons in the backyard
and in the summer, he’d fish with his father and older brothers.
I still have all of the artwork he made for me tucked in a drawer.
I’ve kept his baby teeth in my jewelry box.
It is only through a higher power that I can
use my pain to bring another mother justice.
“Thank you for your support”
to a sea of people wearing T-shirts with her child’s name:
I am Trayvon
I am Oscar
I am Vincent
I am Fong
I am Jason. Amadou. Terrance. Michael. Eleanor. Abu Kassim. Fred. Manuel. Joel. Husein. Mario. Rekia. Kemani. Kendric.
I will share my child with you
through my loss, may you fight the struggle.
no one hurts more than the family.