by Quraysh Ali Lansana
nah brah
-after RaMell Ross
I.
start here. what it is to push against
thirsty grass to scorched brittle dirt
path as you hang from the branch
of my ebony arms. you cop innocence
lanky mobster, resist gravity & reason
in cold hard eyes. upended b-boy stance
as life lesson. we are gnarled tree, born
from earth fed grandpa’s blood. gang
as noose. gang as mason-dixon. why
south so dirty.
II.
daddy ain’t know imma king. look
at his shoes, so old they come back
in the comeback. not too far from
fourth ward, he still smell trap, see
peachtree. my sag dope, my head
baiting satan. grandpa can’t save me.
