Birth of a Rebel

Birth of a Rebel

1969 ...

i was gagging on my own breath.
my lungs had forgotten the simple rules of

In
Out

In

Out

it was all

In

In

In

In
In

strangling my eyes until they were coughing out blind fear.

my father placed the viper between us and I could already taste it's poison delivered in sharp strikes.

he took my hand and placed it in his.

bracing my forefinger he ran it over the crown of his head through his mane.

feel that he whispered,
guard in Attica gave that to me.

he moved my finger from his left temple then right.

feel that he questioned,
electro shock therapy Wards Island.

i looked in his eyes and they were choking too, and it soothed me.

we sat in silence for a moment and the coiled snake rose from it's nest.

a lesson had to be taught so I stopped crying.

she bit me.

hard.

but he was my antidote.  

his name wasn't
Garvey nor Malcolm.

and no one mistook him for a King.

he wasn't a Panther either
but he was caged nonetheless
tagged for study in many a zoo.

subjugated
castrated
mind mutilated

while I pledged my allegiance every morning to the very people who were doing this to him ...

... doing this to us.

Today, July 2 is his birthday.
Shot and killed by the NYPD thirty eight years ago at the age of 38 in 1976 which would have made him 76 ... today.  

[the police said it was self defense
- i guess there's no code for assisted suicide]

Funny how numbers can work that way ...

because the one now captured in my cell phone is a picture of my daughter's forearm.

Her message was simple when she sent it some time ago:

I'm here in Zuccoti Park with Occupy Wall Street. This is the phone number they've written in marker on my forearm in case I'm arrested.

I love you.

Months later the message was:

Dad come march with me,
Come march for Trayvon.

So I did.

And I watched her march
through the canyons of granite and steel
Past the wall of Blue,
And she echoed chants of ...

No justice! - No peace!
No justice! - No peace!  ... and ...

Who's streets? - Our streets! ...

... Her and I visited my father's grave a few months ago.

As I prayed in silence
She broke down sobbing
although she had never met him.

Her breathing was all

In

In
In

In

In

And through her tears he found her
And she found him,
the antidote.  


Presented in the "birth of the rebel" challenge hosted by johnrot