–– for Daunte Wright
The day I took my rest, God’s
angels whisked my soul away
before I could feel the pain.
I opened my eyes to a fiery
chariot, ablaze in golden flames.
On the side of the chariot,
was written an inscription:
Instruments for the Living: Return to the
mountaintop, and they’ll never forget you.
I heard thunder but saw no rain,
lightning but no darkness.
I heard a shout but felt no anger.
And then there was silence, peace.
I peered over the blazing chariot
to witness the sun opening before my eyes.
Inside, a crystalline mountain stood before me,
and atop the mountain stood Floyd and Taylor,
Martin and Garner, Arbery and Brown, King
and Lewis.
They reached out to pull me
up to my hollow place on the mountain,
the portal of remembrance, and they all
rejoiced in one voice, saying:
They’ll never forget you now.
And neither will he.
So when my son rests,
God sends me to him
on a fiery chariot,
ablaze in golden flames.
I cradle him in the spirit,
until I can embrace him
at the edge of eternity.
Those of us who make it
to the mountaintop—-where there is peace
and rest—-witness the gift of immortality.
We never died.
We are alive.
I am alive.
