Birth of A Clinched Fist

Born in epidemic—circa 1986 Jamaica,

Queens—when tiny white caps filled—

modern-day cotton—moored most under

a parking lot's dim cone of light—when

paraded in chambers of those born to triggers

was that sin which weaned father

from son; tricked out the best in us—

a resilient few kept from boxes,

though what was left was worsted in haze

on those horrid nights—when what was

promissory was plight was norm,

and what was dealt—mnemonic so strong

I kept it in my mind like one rehearsing

lines in an orograph for pain—

a pain, like bait, that turned gain

into the cleanest demise—when I stood

to cleave it, the fight empty as cavity,

the strife—marked by omission. Everything

I saw was enemy—even this face, fair game.

Source: When My Body Was A Clinched Fist (Black Lawrence, 2020)