That which we forget
reminds us
that which we covet
informs us—
the queer boy’s blood
spilled over
onto the square
where his mother cries
and ladles crimson petals
into open mouths
singing homegoing hymns
nobody forgets.
**
That which we flee
finds us
that which we fear
drives us—
the father’s hands
reaching for the throat
to shake the queerness
from his child
and later turning the pages
of some Holy Book
to cleanse the memory
of the bullet
and the blood
and the square
and the boy
he fathered
lying dead in
the square.
**
That which we present
deceives us
That which we hide
reveals us—
the boy and his closet
overflowing
inside is a chorus
of marching bands
inside is a chorus
asking do I accept
the violence
that made me
the answer he gives
is reason enough
for the bullet
and the boy
lying dead
in the square.