Letter to My Nephew
to see you happy.
on shoulders of your father
knees above his arms;
smiles out loud, festival crowds—
hands in the air.
on stages of dancehall theaters
knees against the floors;
ambient spotlights, well past midnights—
hands in the air.
to see you happy. to see you alive—
on concrete floors, roller skates on your feet,
no weapons beyond this point;
circular move thumping to house grooves—
hands in the air.
to know you from womb to fatherhood—
from loving infant
to the edge of death…
is to know black boy joy
& howl in repeats—
down to the river,
& into the streets.
megaphones & flashing lights,
stop, frisk, & trials;
collect calls, police walls—
hands in the air.
to see you like this …
& know you
from child to manhood—
from loving nephew
to gunshot wounds
is to have lived black boy joy
only to howl in grief—
down to the river,
& into the streets.
never die ungodly
in an armed madhouse—
never die castrated in
doubt-filled emergencies.
never die unknown
& disinvested—
never die counting
marks in wall tallies.
remember to see you happy—
in mirrors, in movies,
in a country that’s yours—
for worse or made better.
remember to see you alive—
in your children,
inside yourself.
Here you are to be loved.
Sincerely,
Your uncle.
Mark Anthony Thomas
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