On the one year anniversary of the death of Chadwick Boseman

(28 August, 2020, RIP)

The day Chadwick Boseman died,
I was on a train home
twitter scrolling / stopped,
went to credible sources
to double and triple check
and in the semi full carriage I wept.

I had no idea how heavy 2020 had been
but in that carriage mourning another black man,
the load was too much.
From plague to pestilence
the gun and the wild beasts that hold them,
the summer brought yet another casket.

See, we need our fantasies and our myths
we need our kings and heroes who seek justice,
who carry the weight of our vengeance
who execute divine will,
who make sure that before credits roll
the righteous have been redeemed.

I think about the Continent and her diaspora in attire,
giddy. It felt like dawn, Chadwick the star.
How many times did we rewatch with kinfolk,
two, three times. And through his pain, still a fountain of joy,
a bold bastion of bright blackness despite his battles.

I was broken that day.

Yet the sun still rises, the ancestors welcoming
with open arms and the fountain still pouring.
We will remember his light, forever.

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To my uncles

To my uncles that nod from their posts with their badges
and suits, the ones that stand security for white
collars and stand as pillars for us;

to my uncles, with dreadlocks wrestling red lights
dishing trims at barber shops, whipping up sauces
and showing us who’s boss,

to my uncles with white aprons behind counters
to my uncles in well lit theatres with sharp scalpels

to my uncles who landed and stayed legit, salute
to my uncles who landed and deal illicit, invest.

to my uncles with PhDs, Drs, Mr’s, Sirs
and still know their kin, – chiefs.

to my uncles who kneel on Sundays and bow on Fridays
who chew khat and miss sugar cane, may the Father bless you.

to my uncles who send Naira back home even when rent is late
who squeeze Arsenal jerseys onto their pot bellies, captains.

to my uncles that came before, who stuck their foot in the door
my success is forever your success.

to my uncles who’ve stood like Jupiter and taken the meteors
of injustice on their backs, who bled, fled, persevered

to my uncles who know their rights, stand their ground
and keep their fists loaded, we see you.

to my uncles in the ground & in the sea, honour.

to my uncles in the motherland, the ones who will never leave
who insist home is where the soil is a mirror,

to my uncles who’s seed now give shade,
enjoy the fruit of the land.