America

We’re here

and it’s like Allah has closed his

eyes and gone to sleep on me

Night here is dead

Godless almost

But all I see is lights

Not sunlight

or the lights at the end of a tunnel

It’s flashing lights on a cop car

It’s a flashlight in my face

It’s light that makes me want to

curl into myself

like nappy hair in water

getting closer to skin

finding that warm safe place

to hide away from this world

Officer Stanford is what’s on his badge

A black dude with a smooth face

who helps the other guys off the bus

I watch how he holds elbows

puts his hand on backs

gentle almost, like a teacher

We’re quiet as hell, too

because the only sound that

could come from there

is the hissing of flames

No crying, no yelling, no cursing

just the thick silence of waiting for pain

Stanford meets my eyes

and I look down

It’s my turn to step off the bus

and he lends his hand

and I have to be careful not

to step too wide or too far

or else

So I lean on him like he’s a handrail

ExceptExcept

He pulls his hand back real quick

and my step is too wide

the chain is too short

And I see the ground coming

like

a

Mack

truck

at

full

speed

And I swear

I swear

that this time

I

shatter

into

a

million

pieces

I can’t hold back the cry

because

I swearI swear

my face is broken in half

because it’s as if I’ve been

sliced all the way

down

the

middle

Stanford helps me up and

I swear

I left my face on the ground

Wet runs down my lips

and I can’t even wipe it off

because maybe what’s left

will end up on my cuffed hands

Be careful there, Shahid

he hisses

And I’m still crying like a

fucking baby

because everything hurts

And I feel like punching him

in the face so badso bad

But I

only had one fight

before that night with Omari

I didn’t always have to throw hands

block fists, dodge punches

before that night with Omari

And I’m readyso ready

to deck this grown-ass man

right in the face

if my handsmy bodymy life

weren’t in shackles right now

Let me tell you something, little nigga

he hisses in my ear

And the memorythe memory

comes back to me—

Umi grabbed and twisted my lips

when she heard me say

nigga

for the first time

I was five

and I thought it was just a word

like any other word

like my ABCs and 123s

like the old heads on the corner

my cousins from around the way

my friends at the park

calling me

little nigga

little nigga

little nigga

like it’s my name

Don’t you ever, ever let me hear you say

that word again, you hear me?

You’re not a nigger and neither are the boys

you hang around with, nor any boy for that matter

Do you hear me, Amal?

I just never let Umi hear me say it

because at school

on those streetscourtsparks

nigga was like brother

nigga was like homie

nigga was like enemy

nigga was like

everything that we are, were, will ever be

ain’t nothing but shit

like Umi had said

Stanford whispers hard like a dull blade

against thick skin

Ain’t no movie stars in here

Ain’t no fucking celebrities

Ain’t no rappers, ballers

none of that shit

Maybe this is what drowning is like

wet (blood & tears)

covering whatever is left of my face

And inside that giant gray building

the juvenile detention facility—

with its bright shining lights

is the bottom of the ocean

I won’t be able to breathe down there