Speaking of Rituals

—Jesuit-Nativity, Fall 2016

we begin class with prayer

and a conversation about Philando

Castile and Alton Sterling and I

think, perhaps this time I can play God

and provide them an answer.

we have come back to August and Minneapolis

reeks of blood and spook like Ferguson,

Baton Rouge is this summer’s Chicago

and at this Jesuit middle school,

we have not celebrated

the feast of St. Claver or Xavier,

but the Black body mutilated is a refrain

that loops like a glorification

at the end of all our seasons. this morning,

7th grade is a room full of brown eyes

glowering in my direction,

each uniformed body

a column of names to be remembered,

each beautiful Black boy still

first-week-of-school fresh

with low fade

with dreadlock

with sponge twist

with hi-top

with box cut

with French braid

with fro-hawk

with even fade—

with anything tapered and growing

naturally, anything the others haven’t figured out

yet. and when the tallest 7th grader,

a 12-year-old who, in the dark,

might be mistaken for 20,

asks during group discussion,

if police only kill

Black people, I say no

one will declare this a genocide.

no one will declare

this a genocide. no one

will declare this a genocide

*

will declare this a genocide.

this a genocide.

no one will declare

this.

Black people. no.


police kill


during discussion


mistake

a 12-year-old,

anything they haven’t figured out

anything growing

faded

hawked

braided

cut

topped

twisted

locked


firstweekofschoolfresh,

each beautiful Black boy still,

a column of names to be remembered.

each uniformed body

glowering in my direction,


eyes

at the end. this morning,

loops

the Black body mutilated, a refrain,

the feast

not celebrated.

and


Baton Rouge is Chicago


blood-spook like Ferguson

and Minneapolis


provide them an answer.


play God.


Castile Alton Sterling and I,




we begin class.