My African American student Gregg Hunter at McCormick wrote this poem after the death of Laquan McDonald in Chicago:
She wails and weeps for another lost
son, a beautiful, brown-skinned boy whose
broken body haunts her now damned dreams.
The bullets bore through his bones and
tore through his skin, piercing his side
as blood mixed with shit leaked out the wound.
Life leaked out of his limp figure as he lay
dying, each breath drawing him closer to his
last as the white watchman empties the clip.
BANG! The last shot echoes through the air.
The white watchmen sneers then smiles, proud he has
vanquished his fallen foe because he would not let the knife go.
The nightmares never cease; each night a new terror,
a son slain and a daughter dead, her babies born only
to die not in bed at old age but while young on hard street.
Day brings no healing, nor does bottle after empty
bottle of blood-red wine mingled with salty
tears running down her forlorn face.
Do you hear her lamenting for her children?
Do you see her weeping for her sons and daughters?
Do you feel her pain as they die in vain?
I hear a voice crying in the wilderness:
Rachel weeping for her children while
wrapped in Mother Eve’s bosom.
Mother Eve sings to soothe her while
the Chorus of Mothers gather around.
Sarah holds Hagar’s hand and Leah’s eyes
swell with tears as she drapes an arm around her
grieving sister. Their voices ring round the sky,
soaring to the highest heaven and plunging to Lucifer’s
lair, their dirge moving even him to weep.
“Mother, Mother please be strong and please don’t weep for too long.
The day is starting to break and your living children stir awake.
Wipe your tears from your eyes, can’t let your babies see you cry.
We sing for you dearest daughter, now go save another baby from slaughter.
Let our song touch your heart and shine some light into the dark.”