what it was, and who he is (that speech by Jesse Williams)

arriving unannounced

yet accompanied by thunder
a single, fragile man

makes his awe-inspiring stand;

his presence instantly,

innately understood

for what it was

and who he is...

this new unwavering voice
rising in those who can hear it,

rallies those accustomed

to making do with none;

its siren call a summons
unburdening the bereft,

the bearers of luminous voices

taken so cruelly,

and thoroughly before;

the speech indelibly memorized
in the mesmerizing moments
when first it was heard,
its fiery cursive a coursing dna
kindling its vessels
as it whispers past the skin,
seeping through sentient seams,
to reach the daring,
unsullied dreams
of a fresh regeneration
of starry-eyed souls;

cherished and treasured
in intimate, sibling spaces
for discovering and sifting,
for the future's uplifting,
and the slow and supple savouring
of a million aching hearts;

healing like the freeing words
of Malcolm and Martin,
brimming with the power of water
to send forth feeling shoots,
to cleanse corrosive trickles
of a borrowed, bankrupt oppression;

and, falling like scripture,
to embrace the graceless
with its selflessly reflecting
undaunted perspective,
glancing off the lapping love
bequeathed by those
who came before,
its tidings collected
like the gospel of rain
in empathetic pools;

evoking the confiscated comet
trailing courageous laughter
that fleetingly blessed us
with the dazzling Sandra Bland,
it sears its own resplendent path,
wrought in the astonishing light
spilling from a fearless,
clear-eyed intellect,
a blazing forthright beacon
from heaven's untenanted door.

it is at once a manifesto
and a startling manifestation
of miraculous, enduring hope.
for despite everything,
not least the relentless  insult
of being an "other"
in one's own home,
it has managed to remain
all these dreary, visionless years,
resiliently alive.

and though it showed up unannounced,
it sounded in our ears,
like a recovered, remembered angel
heralding the first,
brilliant yet brittle
unprecedented dawn
arriving at long, long last
to quench the
seemingly endless,
almost unbearable
"starless midnight of racism and war."

there's still time
to chuck the white invention
and thereby discover
the essence of humanity.

there's still a little time
but,
not really all that much.
***** ** ***** ** ***** ** ***** ** *****
- Evan Hawthorn, the 30^th of June, 2016