I saw Emmett Till this week at the grocery store (A poem by Eve L. Ewing)

• This morning I came across this poem on Twitter and after reading it, I had to read it twice because of the way she depicted his essence was so impactful, but she still kept it lighthearted for a soul that was gruesomely slain. His life was vital energy that would galvanize the civil rights movement. In addition, I came to realization that this poem could be written about any other deceased brother (Trayvon Martin, Philando Castile, Eric Garner and many more who lost their lives to brutality. Unarmed names and faces dry up the soil of  premature graves, which helps pave the way to fight for a change that can permanently stay, but until the end of time the pain of premature deaths will always feel the same. Poetry is and always will be an artistic, abstract, and humility filled form of expression that provides some respite in the malcontent that manifests inside of us, such as the above examples I gave. FYI, the woman who accused Emmett Till of whistling at her, LIED. An empty revelation that will remain as one of this country’s biggest devastation. Leave a comment about the poem if you feel the need too. Peace

• A poem by Eve L. Ewing

looking over the plums, one by one
lifting each to his eyes and
turning it slowly, a little earth,
checking the smooth skin for pockmarks
and rot, or signs of unkind days or people,
then sliding them gently into the plastic.
whistling softly, reaching with a slim, woolen arm
into the cart, he first balanced them over the wire
before realizing the danger of bruising
and lifting them back out, cradling them
in the crook of his elbow until
something harder could take that bottom space.
I knew him from his hat, one of those
fine porkpie numbers they used to sell
on Roosevelt Road. it had lost its feather but
he had carefully folded a dollar bill
and slid it between the ribbon and the felt
and it stood at attention. he wore his money.
upright and strong, he was already to the checkout
by the time I caught up with him. I called out his name
and he spun like a dancer, candy bar in hand,
looked at me quizzically for a moment before
remembering my face. he smiled. well
hello young lady
hello, so chilly today
should have worn my warm coat like you
yes so cool for August in Chicago
how are things going for you
oh he sighed and put the candy on the belt
it goes, it goes.