Hybrid Literature
"Breonna's Poem"
By Clinnesha Sibley
By Clinnesha Sibley
No knock.
No charges.
Star-spangled bullets pierced the paint of the walls
just off of St. Andrews Church Road.
Unarmed in the hallway–
they somehow believe that legal and moral actions were taken.
They called me a soft target.
No kids.
No kittens.
Purified,
my showers are for singing the Gospel.
Boiling,
my Teflon pots now ruptured, they runneth over.
“Soft target.”
What a concept.
Black women are soft targets for everyone, I guess.
For family…
For the men and women we love.
For the blue men though, “a ‘soft target’ is a person, thing, or place that is easily accessible to the general public and relatively unprotected, making it vulnerable to military or terrorist attack.”
To this I say…
We are not!
We are not sitting ducks waiting to be hunted by your 40 caliber.
We are not fodder for your cannons.
We are worthy of touch and kiss.
We are saving up to buy this house so we can start a family.
We are making people laugh
and crying confidentially into our pillows at night.
We are human beings
with smiles that light up the sky.
We are so bright we are a phenomenon.
We are not who you open fire on.
We are who you open your hearts to.
We are not seeing that man anymore because we deserve better– mama even says so.
We are gripping flowers in the bend of our arms because we worked damned hard for them.
We are eating out because life is good.
We are watching Freedom Writers because it inspires us (and deep down I know I am a writer).
We’ve got “too blessed to be stressed” hanging on our wall because we need a reminder every day.
I’m sorry, Kenny
that when you called out to me--
Bre!
I could not answer.
When someone needs me,
I always answer.
They said I was a soft target,
but I watched my door come off its hinges
and it was the most horrifying thing I ever saw in my life.
For me, a tree was planted
candles were lit
buildings were burned
and a bill got named.
Jesus, I couldn’t breathe.
…now, everything is breathtaking.
…oh Kenny, I finally found a perfect place to watch the sunset.
No charges.
Star-spangled bullets pierced the paint of the walls
just off of St. Andrews Church Road.
Unarmed in the hallway–
they somehow believe that legal and moral actions were taken.
They called me a soft target.
No kids.
No kittens.
Purified,
my showers are for singing the Gospel.
Boiling,
my Teflon pots now ruptured, they runneth over.
“Soft target.”
What a concept.
Black women are soft targets for everyone, I guess.
For family…
For the men and women we love.
For the blue men though, “a ‘soft target’ is a person, thing, or place that is easily accessible to the general public and relatively unprotected, making it vulnerable to military or terrorist attack.”
To this I say…
We are not!
We are not sitting ducks waiting to be hunted by your 40 caliber.
We are not fodder for your cannons.
We are worthy of touch and kiss.
We are saving up to buy this house so we can start a family.
We are making people laugh
and crying confidentially into our pillows at night.
We are human beings
with smiles that light up the sky.
We are so bright we are a phenomenon.
We are not who you open fire on.
We are who you open your hearts to.
We are not seeing that man anymore because we deserve better– mama even says so.
We are gripping flowers in the bend of our arms because we worked damned hard for them.
We are eating out because life is good.
We are watching Freedom Writers because it inspires us (and deep down I know I am a writer).
We’ve got “too blessed to be stressed” hanging on our wall because we need a reminder every day.
I’m sorry, Kenny
that when you called out to me--
Bre!
I could not answer.
When someone needs me,
I always answer.
They said I was a soft target,
but I watched my door come off its hinges
and it was the most horrifying thing I ever saw in my life.
For me, a tree was planted
candles were lit
buildings were burned
and a bill got named.
Jesus, I couldn’t breathe.
…now, everything is breathtaking.
…oh Kenny, I finally found a perfect place to watch the sunset.
