Freedom Song

I remember when he was a baby I took a picture of him to school and told everyone he was mine. The chunkiest little brown baby you ever did see
Big thick black curls
The cutest giggle I’ve ever heard
and smile that could melt anyone’s heart

I was so proud……

He was my baby

MY

baby
Brother

We are 10 years apart in age. My dad’s only boy
His room was filled with monster trucks, toy guns, things that made sounds and squeals

He was ALL boy

ALL BOY…..

I remember my stepmother would let him wear his cowboy boots everywhere he went
To church
To school
To bed….
We laugh at that now, but it was indicative of the kind of child he was

He was imaginative
He was
his own little man

he was a rebel but it was cute then……

Now……

I don’t know who he is.

I struggled with going to see him at that place
Where he now resides
Restricted
Conflicted
Institutionalized




For stupid mistakes,

Because he was still trying to be a cowboy
In the streets
Still playing with guns
And experimenting with new
“toys”

He continued to become a rebel

But ….

WITH NO CAUSE

When he was younger I tried to tell him.......

Cowboys eventually die

Its up to them how soon they
Do so……


Regardless,
I wonder if he
gets it now?

I wonder if he see’s that
He didn’t even get to choose what he wanted to be when he grew up
His actions
Choose it for him.

I hate to see my brother
Stripped from his individuality and reduced
To a number

A FUCKIN number

*sigh…..

My brother stood in line, with other black men
With stories, and talents, and strengths
And

stated his number


Peoples fathers and husbands and brothers
And
Sons

Are now numbers
He went from being so free

With options for his life

To becoming

A number

Being in that prison placed me in my most uncomfortable state

Being restricted….


I had to wear certain clothes and was only allowed to bring certain things
Had to sit in a certain place, and act a certain way
It was almost like they

Institutionalized me and my family

For loving him

It was too much to take in

I cried on the way home

He looks the same though,

same big brown eyes
and smile
That will melt anyone’s heart
Those big black curls are now in
Cornrows, he looks as if he has grown a foot since I saw him last
He was dressed like every other man
in Khaki pants and shirt

Careful with his words
Asking me questions like
“What is it like in Charlotte?”
I tell him
“It’s a nice place”
Because that’s all that will come out of my mouth
I would rather fly him there to see for him self
But I cant

I tell him that
I would much rather be sending him money
for books and food for college
as opposed to
money for the prison commissary

He looks at me and says
“I understand”

But he made his choices
and has to live
with the consequences of those choices

and it hurts me
to my

Core….

I hate it most of all because
he is becoming
A MAN….

A Man……
In that prison
and I know life
will

forever
be a Struggle for him……