I see Jesus.
In the face crushed into
Asphalt,
Knee on neck,
Power of might
Gone to the head,
Popping in vein and vision.
Destruction in the
Rod and scepter.
Where every impulse,
Yes, the very call itself,
Should be shepherd protection.
I cannot look.
He’s Someone’s son.
Oh, Someone, I am
Sorry.
I know you know the
Helpless mother-ache that permeates
The waking hours.
For motherhood is at the lungs and heart,
The veins and blood,
The precious skin, too; it is
Utterly unifying.
All mothers’ hearts beat alike. They cry,
Save the offspring-flesh who hold my breath!
Mary watched and bled.

Ahmaud, George, my sons, too.
What can I do for you?
Love your mothers? Ok.
I can do that.
Other tasks for other people.
I will love your mothers.
~
Quilt made for Wanda Cooper-Jones in honor of her son Ahmaud Arbery.