Weekly feature by: Ethan Sturm

in the way a blank page never quite feels empty. in the way
a book is never quite the same a second time through.

in the way you hear your name
and it no longer sounds like reassurance.

like the moment you wake up in bed
and it’s morning but you don’t quite remember
lying down the night before. as if
the choice was made for you.

as if you were placed there unknowingly. as if
all of this is a dream sequence that just keeps skipping ahead.

one moment you are in a forest. through the canopy
sunlight hits your face. all of a sudden you’re still in the same forest
but it’s nightfall. every noise preying on uncertainty.

and you crumble into the dirt as if it were routine.

what makes a grave shallow they ask. is it the depth of the earth
or the unjustifiable reason behind the death?

notice how a black boy is always a thug
when he comes out of the reporter’s mouth.

look how an officer’s uniform has become synonyms
with not guilty.

notice how i did not say innocent.


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