My thoughts when I first saw the young corpse of Emmett Till.
Published in
1 min readMar 7, 2019
Were you the shape of jazz to come?
The tortured soul of black art for young boys like me?
Were you resistance and loss coldly cut into form?
No.
You were all of this and more.
They told us to fall into rank and file.
These white sheets can’t seem to placate a black smile.
Every black child felt the pale moonlight.
A broken body, but a soul that continued to fight.
Still, we jazz june,
we feel fame, we
love life, we
hold hope, we go broke, we grab grit, we sell stars, we fall far.
I guess Mrs Brooks was right
-we just so fucking cool.
So cool.