Upon the posthumous degree granted to Trayvon Martin on May 17, 2017
Upon the posthumous degree granted
to Trayvon Martin on May 17, 2017
A Poem by Fariha Tayyab
When they gave Trayvon Martin the posthumous degree:
I cried like a baby. The same baby birthed through the womb, shaking uncontrollably.
I cried like I had held his tender hands, through the years. The etchings on his palm, narrating his lifeline, that I never paid attention to. I wondered what it was like to- cry as a black mother, a black auntie, a black grandmother, even an older black cousin, three times removed.
I will never feel the pain that runs through the emotional veins, of the black mother; The celestial human. The pain that vibrates with her in utero, as she brings a black baby to the world; not knowing if he would be taken; even when he was given the good life, when he followed the rules, When he was - not a victim.
I once heard a mother say: when her son died, she felt like she was giving birth again. She felt unbearable contractions. And she knew. She knew before the news let out, that he was gone. Oh, young black men, you are always victims-- to something. Not out there, but here, rather, in America. Home to the Anglo- colonizing white man, but death to the descendant of the slave.