when they crushed your neck
with the weight of their fear
i wonder where their mothers
were. if there were tremors
in their hearts giving away the
unknittings of sinew into
sociology, simmering
fury into rinds,
convenience,
saying, you can't win.

what makes one think he
can sell ringside seats to
an execution? as the
embers died in your eyes,
lapped softly at your feet,
i wondered: was it a winding
to a dimming halt, or was it
violent, like an uprooting,
like the encroachment of
fallow love into front row
wildernesses?

know this:
you died
for the audacities of hope,
taken, eaten
in remembrance of you.
placed in trembling hands
like wafers and grape juice,
chewed in silence, and
turned back to praise.