When a Black Girl is Killed
by Akhim Yuseff Cabey
a runner cheats several paces off the bag
at second base, his intent to steal third
as fast as he can. once as a boy he’d gouged
his chest against a nail at a construction site—
white meat flesh popcorned past the surface
of brown skin. and he saw inside himself,
what he was made of, for the first time. he ran
home shirtless, and she laid him down
on the pavement in front of the tenement
building. the blood had dried beverage-straw wide
from the gash to navel. she licked her palm
wet enough to erase the line of red along
his stomach then adhered gauze to the wound
with grease from her baby-hair edges. he stood up
and she gave him a piece of bubble gum
and a baseball autographed with a forged
signature of his favorite player. penmanship
she’d been practicing in that place we are born
before we are born. just as the ball leaves
the pitcher’s hand, he takes off, cleat teeth
chewing up dirt, and slides in head first,
safely ahead of the throw. theft like theirs
is egotistical—a measured act of greed—
but it’s the only way he knows how to speed
up time so he can get back to fingering
the smooth, half-penny-shaped scar
above his right nipple, and how she spat
in her hand then took the needful from her scalp
to mend him. he desires to steal home—
knows he will have to plow through the catcher
guarding the base—so sets his lungs on fire
with breath he no longer possesses,
breath escaped already aboard the thought
of her frozen body face down in the river.
First published in The Adroit Journal (Issue 53).