What Is The Sound
By Dawn Lundy Martin
What is the sound of sounds
sounding indefinite fist in face again and
sound of the surprise of it coming
from nowhere, of breaking the arm
on a small fall in your own house,
a respiratory failure, wound opening like a little mouth.
We inhabit the brutal. We are shattered everyday.
We look askew. Head broken floor array, light
array, great distances, life goals.
Staked upon every border,
guardians. Protections have many faces.
Misuse of the face as a streaming
desire. Solution posted: “Get rid of all the n*ggers.”
The state exacts its controls.
That the pepper spray happens against kneeling children—
That the search for the secret leaker is unyielding—
If you want, you can make a myopic focus, concentrate
on a shone shadow or drift off into space.
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