This is all I have to say today.
America, you got big guns.
I ain’t scared, not with this working womb.
America, you thought the
Black Panther Free Breakfast Program was scary,
you ain’t met me yet.
For every one of our children
allowed to be murdered, I will have two.
With brothas gully as they come.
All grit and swagger and knuckle and earth
and gleam, beards all unapologizing.
Brothas who won’t smile at you.
Brothas who ain’t never been afraid of you.
Brothas who smell just like the sun.
We will raise our babies together,
like militia, ticking.
We will detonate them on your college campuses,
at your job, in your neighborhood.
We will suck up all the financial aid.
We will teach Fred Hampton in the classrooms
until his blood can stop screaming.
You don’t want it with we, America.
We, Black mothers,
are angry as ever,
are fertile as ever,
of our children.
I’m not leaving, America.
We will take over the schools and
send your daughters home smiling
like Patty Hearst, America.
You feeling me now?
You fearing me now?
I might even have your babies, America.
They will be Black, too.
America, this is a war.
America, I will send my sons to all your corners.
You will be needing their light.
America, this is a love poem.
Making love is the only way I know how to save you.
Your hatred and fear are a cancer.
You teeth are rotting from your head.
America, now is the time
to call on whatever God you pray to.
Give thanks for my brilliant sons.
Yes, there will be sons,
We will call them all Jamal
and we will love them.
We will love them.
We’re not dying, America.
We will live forever.