First published in the United States of America by HarperCollins Publishers in 2020

Published simultanously in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2020

Published in this ebook edition in 2020

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

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Copyright © Ibi Zoboi and Yusef Salaam 2020

Illustrations copyright © Omar T. Pasha 2020 (here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here)

Cover art by Temi Coker, portrait by Alexis Franklin, photos by Merla, Nickita Vanat, Manekina Serafima, heliopix, COLOA Studio, and wacomka / Shutterstock

Cover design copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover design, lettering and typography by Jenna Stempel-Lobell

All rights reserved.

Ibi Zoboi and Yusef Salaam assert the moral rights to be identified as the authors of this work.

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Source ISBN: 9780008422141

Ebook Edition © September 2020 ISBN: 9780008422158

Version: 2020-08-19

For Joseph, and the many lives

you’ve touched with your art, including mine

—I. Z.

For my mother, Sharonne Salaam, my super shero

—Y. S.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Part I

Birth

Old Soul

Courtroom

Character Witness

Gray Suit

Anger Management

White Space

White Space II

The Thinker

Two Mouths

Blank Page

Black Ink

Face Painting

Movie Star

Fan Club

Black Mona Lisa

Picasso Face

Cacophony

The Last Judgment

Counting Game

Knockout Game

Ball Game

Counting Game II

The Scream

The Scream II

Refrain

Blind Justice

Thoughts & Prayers

Slave Ship

Family Portrait

The Watch

Ocean

Clone

Conversations with God

African American

Coming to America

The Entombment

Inferno

Processed

Rights

Books

Booked

Money

New ID

DNA

Middle Passage

Coming to America II

Hope

Part II

America

Auction Block

Lights Out

God, The Artist

Lights On

Wallflower

Sunrise

Pipeline

Conversations with God II

Conversations with God III

Pipeline II

Schooled

Schooled II

Schooled III

Schooled IV

Schooled V

Free Time

Blank Canvas

Lights Out

Cubism

Conversations with God IV

Wallflower II

Conversations with God V

The Open Window

Conversations with God VI

The Bridge in the Rain

Microphone

Hype Man

Conversations with God VII

Meditation

Lights Out

Guernica

Dust

Family Portrait II

Expressionism

Conversations with God VIII

White Space III

Lights Out

The Persistence of Memory

Blind Justice II

Lights On

Schooled VI

Pipeline III

Brotherhood

Brotherhood II

Cubism II

Art School

The Entombment II

Part III

Hope II

Hope III

Lost-and-Found

Booked II

Family Portrait III

Blank Page II

Guernica II

Lockdown

The Entombment III

Saint Peter in Prison

Art School II

Harmony

African American II

Butterflies

DNA II

Conversations with God IX

Lights Out

Blank Canvas II

Lights On

Solitary: The Box

Surrealism

Lights On

Brotherhood III

Brotherhood IV

Brotherhood V

Conversations with God X

Butterflies II

Art School III

Brotherhood VI

Art School IV

American Graffiti

Brotherhood VII

Young Basquiat

The Persistence of Memory II

Meditation II

Brotherhood VIII

American Graffiti II

Young Basquiat II

Father Figure

Brotherhood IX

Wallflower III

Hope IV

Butterflies III

Young Basquiat III

Hope V

A Note from the Authors

Acknowledgments

About the Authors

Books by Ibi Zoboi

About the Publisher

Part I

Birth

Umi gave birth to me

at home

She has a video

and every birthday

she makes me watch

When I was little

I would run away

Umi would laugh and say

Come here, boy

You gotta remember

where you came from!

She’d chase me around

that small apartment

and I’d cover my eyes and

pretend to be gagging

That’s nasty, Mama, I’d say

That’s life, Amal

You have to respect it

she’d say

Umi was in this inflatable pool

in the middle of our living room

with the midwife next to her

My father was holding the camera

She was taking deep fire breaths

eyes closed tight, not even screaming

almost praying

Then the midwife plunged

both her hands into the pool

And then

there I was rising out of water

Squirming little brown thing

barely crying

big eyes wide

as if I’d already done this before

as if I’d already been here before

Umi says

I was born with an

old, old soul

Old Soul

The thing about being born

with an old soul

is that

an old soul can’t tell you

all the things you weren’t supposed to do

all the things that went wrong

all the things that will make it right again

The thing about having an old soul

is that

no one can see that it’s there

hunched over with wrinkly brown skin

thick gray hair, deep cloudy eyes

that have already seen the past, present, and future

all balled up into a small universe

right here, right now

in this courtroom

Courtroom

I know the courtroom ain’t

the set of a music video, ain’t

Coachella or the BET Awards, ain’t

MTV, VH1, or the Grammys

But still

there’s an audience

of fans, experts, and judges

Eyes watching through filtered screens

seeing every lie, reading every made-up word

like a black hoodie counts as a mask

like some shit I do with my fingers

counts as gang signs

like a few fights counts as uncontrollable rage

like failing three classes

counts as being dumb as fuck

like everything that I am, that I’ve ever been

counts as being

guilty

Character Witness

We’re in the courtroom

to hear the jury’s verdict

after only a few hours of

deliberation

and Ms. Rinaldi, my art teacher

was a character witness

It was the first time

she saw me

in a suit and tie

like the one I was supposed to wear

to the art opening at the museum

Or the one I was supposed to wear

to my first solo show in the school’s gym

The suit I was supposed to wear

to prom, to my cousin’s graduation

to mosque with Umi

is the suit I wear to my first trial

It’s as if this event in my life

was something that was

supposed to happen all along

Gray Suit

Umi told me to wear a gray suit

becauseoptics

But that gray didn’t make me any less black

My white lawyer didn’t make me any less black

And words can paint black-and-white pictures, too

Maybe ideas have their own eyes

separating black from white as if the world

is some old, old TV show

Maybe ideas segregate like in the days of

Dr. King, and no matter how many marches

or Twitter hashtags or Justice for So-and-So

our mind’s eyes and our eyes’ minds

see the world as they want to

Everything already illustrated

in black and white

Anger Management

Did you ever see Amal get angry?

the prosecutor asked Ms. Rinaldi

It’s the most important question in my trial

Am I angryAm I violentAm I—

Objection, Clyde said

Sustained, the judge said

Did Amal ever display emotions that were—

Yes, Ms. Rinaldi said

That’s why I work so hard with Amal

To channel his anger into his art

And I know, I know

that right then and there

she didn’t even have to look my way

because she won’t see me

She’s never seen me

She only sees my paintings and drawings

as if me and what I create

are two different worlds

There’s a stone in my throat

and a brick on my chest

White Space

In art class

Ms. Rinaldi had said that

the white space on the page

is also part of our illustration

The white space on the page

also tells a story, is part of the big picture

I didn’t get what she was saying at first

Then she showed us this painting

An optical illusion, she called it

There was a white face

with eyes, a nose, and a mouth

against a black background

But when I looked sideways

or backward or upside down

there was a black face with

eyes, nose, and a mouth

against a white background

And it was wild how my eyes

played tricks on me like that

but it was my mind that

made sense of it all

It’s wild how our minds

can play tricks on us like that

White Space II

There were more witnesses

from East Hills

than from my side of the hood

of the tracks

of the border

of that invisible line

we weren’t supposed to cross

The couple who just moved in with the baby

who said

We tried so hard to build community

The kindergarten teacher who said

I’ve always been good to those

neighborhood kids

And the college kid who

recorded the whole thing

and said

I knew something was gonna go down

so I just picked up my phone

To call the police? Clyde asked

Nah, for social, the kid said

It was like a mob

an ambush

So I went live

And no, I’ve never seen them before

Then when Clyde asked

How long have you been in the neighborhood?

Just the weekend, visiting friends

the college kid said

I didn’t think it would blow up like this

That video made you pretty famous, huh?

The college kid laughed

and all I wanted to do was

drag him off that witness stand

But that would’ve looked bad

Really bad

The Thinker

I replay everybody’s testimonies

in my head

like a song on loop

Their words and what they thought

to be their truth

were like a scalpel

shaping me into

the monster

they want me to be

I’m supposed to be

like a statue

in this courtroom

Chiseled bronze

perfectly frozen in time

like some god

stripped of his power

or a fallen angel

cast into this hell

And every lie

they say about me

every stone

they throw at me

is supposed to bounce off

like tiny pellets

Here I have to be bulletproof

Two Mouths

What happens if I’m found guilty? I ask Clyde

before the deliberation

He taps his pen on his yellow notepad

as if beating out the rhythm to some rhyme

some party anthem for whenfor when

he wins this case

And I want so bad

to grab that pen and notepad

and draw me a victory

a whole scene with dancing shapes

and hard lines turned to joy

That’s not going to happen, he says

Umi said English requires two mouths to speak

and four ears to understand

Clyde spoke with two mouths

One for me and one for the court

Blank Page

Mr. Clyde Richter, my defense attorney

is supposed to save my life

is supposed to create reasonable doubt

is supposed to let that judge and jury know

the truth

But he is part of the white space

on my page

where the charcoal and ink

only graze the edges of his world

of Ms. Rinaldi’s world

of Jeremy Mathis’s world

the white boy whose entire life

is a whole blank page of

this sketchbook

where this story begins

Black Ink

So

I am ink

He is paper

I am pencil

He is notebook

I am text

He is screen

I am paint

He is canvas

I am man

He is boy

I am criminal

He is victim

I am alive

He is almost dead

I am black

He is white

Face Painting

Ms. Rinaldi left the courtroom

after the prosecutor showed pictures

of Jeremy Mathis’s face after the fight

In school, she said I had talent, a gift

She said my lines were soft

my subjects were tender

She said I had a lot of beauty

inside me waiting to bloom

My art teacher of all people should know

I could never make a painting

with the colors of mangled flesh

of broken bone, of bruised skin

out of someone’s face

Movie Star

The people who know me

really know me

are not the ones

the judge and jury want to hear from

It’s as if they wanted to hear a story about

some other kid

It’s as if they wanted to watch a movie about

some other kid

The prosecutor, with his fancy words

his hard evidence

wrote the script, directed the scene

cast just the right actor

to play this kid from the hood

who beat up a white kid really bad

so bad

that he can’t wake up

to tell the truth

Fan Club

And the truth is

nothing else matters except this moment

right now

when I get to turn around to

look into Umi’s eyes

to remind herto remind me

that she believes me

And I want Grandma to know that

I’m goodI’m good

on the inside

Uncle Rashon knew what went down

even before he saw the news

even before he saw the video

even before he saw the picture of Jeremy Mathis’s face

He tried to tell meHe tried to tell me

not to go over to East Hills

My cousins Shay and Dionne tell me

even without saying a word

We got your back, ’MatWe got your back

The other faces are

from the blockfrom the hood

from my schoolfrom my past

I don’t know if they’re watching

this movie with the boy who is playing me

or the real me in this real life

But still, they’re hereThey’re here

My best friend Lucas

ghosted me

ever since this whole shit went down

Black Mona Lisa

My umi’s face is

the most beautiful in the world

Skin

like sleeping in on snow days

beneath thick blankets

black

Smile

like an eighty-degree

summer day in April

bright

Eyes

like long subway rides

looking out windows watching

nothing and everything go by in the dark

and letting my thoughts swim

deep

Picasso Face

My face must be

the ugliest in the world

MonsterPredatorAnimal

You walk on two legs, not four, Umi said

And since that night

I haven’t heard anyone call me boy like she does

call me little man

Alwaysman

born full-grown, full-bearded

full of a life not even lived yet

as if

I’ve never toddled along the sofa

like in the videos on Umi’s phone

I’ve never eaten mashed-up food and

spit up and babbled with a mouth full of pink gums

I’ve never cried for a teddy bear or

laughed at Elmo on Sesame Street

I’ve never worn mismatched shoes

and splashed in a puddle

I’ve never hidden from thunder and fireworks

and angry shouts and gunshots and sirens

as if

I’ve never been afraid of monsters and

predators and animals and

my own face

Cacophony

The judge takes his seat

on the bench and lets us know

that the jury has reached a verdict

And I can hear everyone behind me

shifting in their seats

whispering

mumbling

crying

as if they know

They already know

Order! the judge shouts

and bangs his gavel

But all I hear is chaos

All I know is chaos

The disorder of things, places

and people that have no end

no aim, no destiny, no Allah

Godless like hell

Umi tells me to pray, head bowed

submitting to that higher power who

holds the puppet strings

And sometimes I feel like a toy soldier

and I want to beat my chest

to check my bulletproof vest

in this made-up war

like some rap battle

with no mic, no beat, no sound

It’s so quiet now

I hold my own hands

My leg is shaking

My heart is a drum

My body—

I wish I could float into the air

I wish I could disappear

The Last Judgment

In the case of the People, the juror says

And I wish I had eyes in the back of my head

so I could see the people behind me

so they can see me

Not the version of me they see in those drawings—

eyes like dead spaces on my face, mouth turned down

nose wide like my father’s

cheekbones high like my grandma’s

Not the version of me they see on TV—

head down, arms pulled back

wrists cuffed

mean-mugged

name in mud

But the real me, like, past my face, past my story

and into my eyes so they’d know

what really happened that night

I’d let each one of them step into my soul

and walk those city streets

walk through that building’s door

walk through that school’s halls

sit in those classes

sit on those front stoops

sit on those trains

stand in those lines

stand on those corners

stand in front of this judge

And maybe my whole soul

my whole life

will be like a mirror

And instead of me

here in this courtroom

it would be

the People versus the People

… versus Amal Dawud Shahid, she says

Keep my name out your mouth, lady, I say

But she don’t hear me, though

No one hears me

My lips are sealed

but my words have a life of their own

Even if they’re locked up

they’ll bounce off three walls and slip between

metal bars

They’ll say what’s up to the inmates

mean-mug the COs

walk out of the security-tight doors

fly out of this place

aim for the sky, kiss the clouds

and shout to that stale wind

that my name is Amal

and

Amal means hope

The jury finds, she says

As if this is a game of hide-and-seek

and I’m curled up under some table

my body balled up like a fist

like in my mom’s belly

Or in some closet, behind her dresses

smelling like perfume

like home

like cooked food

like plans for the future

like maybe-somedays

like see-you-tomorrows

… the defendant, she says

As if it’s my name

As if I came into the world

with fists blocking

boxing gloves like

Holyfield, Louis, Frazier

Tyson, Rocky, and Ali

Counting Game

One count of

attempted murder with a deadly weapon

The prosecutor had to prove

that I grabbed my skateboard

and swung it at his head

and tried to kill him

But Clyde got that first charge reduced to

aggravated assault and battery with a deadly weapon

The prosecutor had to prove

that I grabbed my skateboard

and swung it at his head

when his DNA wasn’t even on it

so Clyde got it reduced to

one count of

aggravated assault and battery

Knockout Game

Shay would punch me on the arm whenever

he spotted a Volkswagen Beetle

That was the rule of the punch buggy game

And I’d punch Shay back really hard because

Umi always said, Somebody hit you, you hit ’em back

That was the rule of that game

So I turned down the plea deal

and pleaded not guilty

Because Clyde said it was self-defense

Jeremy Mathis’s mother must’ve

told him the same thing

Somebody hit you, you hit ’em back

Because I threw the first punch

Ball Game

I really learned about

self-defense

while playing basketball

full court, five-on-five

When the ball

is on their side

and you trying to block

that three-point shot

And they know their turf

better than you do

but you know your

whole team

But still

it’s their court

it’s their hood

And all you trying to do is

steal the ball, intercept, block

and go home

go home

Go home

is what those people

in East Hills were saying to us

So it wasn’t about

who threw the first punch

It was about courts, turf, space

Me and them other boys

were just trying to go home

Counting Game II

On

the

count

of

aggravated

assault and battery—

the jury finds the defendant

guilty

the juror says

There’s a stone in my throat

There’s a brick on my chest

The stone turns into a mountain

The brick turns into a building

And it feels like a giant, heavy thing

like the whole world

is pressing down on me

The Scream

Rage is a deadly feeling, Umi once saidIt doesn’t move

anythingIt just makes you wanna punch a wall or a face It

just sits there, this heavy, dark thing in front of your eyes

making you feel nothing but hunger beating in your empty

bellySo you’re forced to face it and open your mouth

wide to swallow it whole, thinking that it will go down

smooth like warm milkBut rage is a thing with

bones and blood and screams that turn into

flames, so you have to chew on itTake

in all the sharp bitterness that makes your

tongue and mouth and words go numb

You don’t even know when it reaches

your throat because it’s already there

in your bellyHeavy thing not

moving like a heart stopped

The Scream II

I turn around to see Umi

and the stones fall out of my mouth

But he was still—

I didn’t—

Umi—

More stones clog my throat

and I am choking on my words

I am choking on my tears

I am choking

I am

I am choking

I am choking on my tears

and I am choking on my words

More stones clog my throat

Umi—

I didn’t—

But he was still—

and the stones fall out of my mouth

I turn around to see Umi

Refrain

What was I supposed to say?

That I didn’t do it, over and over again

like it’s a number-one hit single?

The platinum record of the summer

with a dope beat by some DJ?

That little kids make up dances in viral videos to—

I didn’t do it

That white girls strum guitars on YouTube to—

I didn’t do it

That church choirs sing the gospel remix to—

I didn’t do it

That Ellen does her two-step dance routine to—

I didn’t do it

And I’m over here

shouting to the judge, jury, cops, reporters

his moms, my moms, that

I threw the first punch but not the last—

I didn’t do it

Blind Justice

His mom thinks it’s justice for her son

But I know that me and him

both walked down the path

that was already planned for us

And we stepped onto

the tipping scales of Lady Justice

with her eyes blindfolded, peeking through slits

because that rag is so fucking old

worn-out, stretched thin, barely even there

Amal Shahid to the leftJeremy Mathis to the right

perfectly imbalanced

because where I come from

jail or death

were the two options she handed to us

because where he comes from

the American Dream

was the one option she handed to them

So here we are, blind Lady Justice

I see you, too

Thoughts & Prayers

There is nothing left to do now

but to think about God

my country’s Money

my mother’s Allah

my grandmother’s Jesus

my father’s American Dream

my uncle’s Foreign Cars

my teacher’s College Education

my lawyer’s Time

When Umi asked for thoughts and prayers

each one of them bowed their heads

to their version of the higher power

and maybe never, ever even once

thinking of Hope

thinking of me

Slave Ship

What happened?

I try to ask Clyde

But the other voices

in the courtroom

drown out my words

And it’s like water

is slowly rising

from the floor

reaching my feet

climbing up my legs

as if this courtroom

is a sinking ship

but everybody else

with their freedom

can swim up to the

surface for some air

to safe shores

and I’m the only one

with an anchor

tied to my ankles

Heavy metal

pulling me down

until I drown

So I turn around

to see the freedom

I’m leaving behind

to see the home

I’m leaving behind

I want so bad

to paint this picture

to crop out all the noise

and zoom in on the people

who love me

Family Portrait

Umi’s eyes, framed by her blue hijab, are like home

I know the Quran is on her lap

with my baby pictures between its pages

Uncle Rashon’s furrowed brows are like trips to that

book vendor on the corner

I know he has conspiracy theories

about this whole thing

Shay’s crooked smile is like when he’s losing to me

in a long chess game

There’s fear on his face, like

this might happen to him, too

Dionne’s smirk is like a college brochure

slipped under my door

There’s hope in her eyes, like she really believes

everything will be okay

Grandma’s presence is a whole wide, warm hug

She’s tired, so tired

I want her to go home and lay down

The Watch

The first time I was ever handcuffed

was when I was arrested and charged

with this crime, I thought about

watches and other things I wear on my wrist

In kindergarten Umi got me a waterproof watch

with a Velcro strap, I was always checking it like

I had places to go and people to see and

in second grade I wore those Silly Bandz

on my wrist as if they were status symbols

In fifth grade, the prettiest girl

Tanesha, made me a friendship bracelet

strands of string linked together like chains

That shit never came off, but when we broke up

I tried to snag it loose with my teeth right there

in the schoolyard so everyone could see

that we were done and I’m not about to cry

over no girl, but there go Shawn with his

big mouth talking about, She dumped you, ha ha!

So I told him to shut the fuck up right there

in the schoolyard so everyone could see

that I’m not about to cry over no girl

But he kept saying, She dumped you, she dumped you!

’Cause Tanesha was the prettiest girl in the fifth grade

and when she was my girl I was the coolest kid in the

fifth grade and you know when you have a girl

all the other girls wanna be your girl, so Shawn

with his big mouth was messing up my game

was trying to make me cry, make me mad, make me fight

and he came to my face one more time with

She dumped your ugly ass! and the only thing left to do

was to deck him in the face, punch after punch

And we were right there in the schoolyard fighting

like we wanted to kill each other but all I was trying to do

was not lose ’cause everybody was right there in the

schoolyard watching, cheering, until until

the principal came, the gym teacher came

my teachers came to stop us from trying

to kill each other ’cause that’s what it looked like

after I was done with Shawn’s face

We have a zero-tolerance policy, Mr. Figueroa

said when my mother came up to the school

after I had to sit in the office for a long-ass time

and I knew I was in big trouble ’cause they sent

Shawn to the nurse’s office and called his mother

and everything, and I thought I won, I had a rep

for being this hard little kid that nobody could mess with

and I didn’t even know how I was supposed to feel—

happy or sad, proud or guilty, like I won or lost—

because Umi’s eyes were red when she came to the office

She stared down at me like she was sending lasers

from her eyes, but right behind her was my boy Lucas

smiling big and giving me a thumbs-up, but Umi’s

face was sad, angry, confused, so I didn’t know

what to do with my own eyes when both Ms. Samuel and

Mr. Figueroa called us into the office to say again

that We have a zero-tolerance policy!Zero tolerance

What does that even mean? Umi asked

It means that Amal will have to be suspended for

three days and it will have to go on his record

We laid out the rules at the beginning of the school year

No fighting, no bullying, no cursing, no acting out

Zero tolerance

Scholars are learning that our actions always have

consequences and we have to think about

our choices, Ms. Samuel said, sounding like she’s a

fucking robot, and Umi was looking at her like she is

and said, Is the other boy getting suspended?

And Mr. Figueroa said, The other boy was sent to

the nurse’s officeHe was badly hurt

And thenAnd then Umi looked over at me

as if I did the worst thing in the worldand

her faceher face looked like it was slowly

slowly turning intohoney falling off a spoon

Sadness moved down from her forehead to her lips

Drooping and dripping

I’m so disappointed in you, Amal, Umi said

And mymy heartwas like her face

Drooping and dripping

Then she asked, Does it have to go on his record?

Boys fight all the time, right, I mean he’s always

fighting with his cousins, kids get hurtkids

They make stupid mistakes

What’s three days’ suspension supposed

to teach him?He’ll be home

all aloneI can’t take off work to watch him

Umi’s eyes were begging for something Mr. Figueroa

wasn’t about to give

Ms. Samuel wants us to spread our wings and fly

wants us to reach our full potential

College, it was all about college, so of course

she repeated, We have a zero-tolerance policy

and Umi looking at me like I did the worst thing

in the world and Lucas peeking into the office

looking at me like I did the best thing in the world

and Tanesha walking in and looking at me

just looking at meand me looking at her

and wishing so badthat I never

got into that fight with Shawn

Ocean

Ever since that day in the fifth grade when

I got suspended for three days

for fighting

Umi watched me so hard, her rules were so strict

that it felt like I’ve been trying to

breathe underwater

Every dumb shit I’ve ever done was me

fighting my way to the top

for some air

Clone

Ever since that day in the fifth grade

my teachers watched me so hard, so close

that I felt like I was trying to break out of prison

even though it was just school

Every dumb shit I did

they thought it was because of

trouble at home

an absent father

a tired mother

not enough books

not enough vegetables

not enough sleep

They believed those lies about me

and made themselves

a whole other boy

in their minds

and replaced me with him

Conversations with God

Why are you not on their side? I had asked Clyde

I never called him Mr. Richter

I ain’t a slave and he’s not my Mister

Master

Grandma calls me Master Amal

because she says

I am the master of my own destiny

I am the master of my own fate

I am the master of my body, mind, and spirit

So there was only room for one master

and Clyde ain’t it

(I never tell Grandma that on most days

I don’t feel like a master

I don’t feel like I’m the one in control)

These things that Grandma tells me

are like

a pan of mac and cheese on Sunday

a pair of socks for my birthday

a whisper in my ear that she’ll steal me away

to take me to her church

a tight hug around my waist and a kiss on my chin

because I’m way taller than her

These things that Grandma gives me are like

a butterscotch or peppermint candy from her purse

Sweet promises

that make me feel special

only for a little while

Then she goes home

to her church, to her Bible, to her knitting

to her bargain shopping at dollar stores

to her own

sweet

promises

I work for you, Amal

Only you, Clyde had said

So you’re in this for the money, I said

Amal— Umi interrupted

He gets to ask me all the questions

and I don’t get to ask him none? I said

Then he said, I’m in it for justice

And that’s when I knew for sure that

my lawyer speaks with two mouths

So when Clyde says, I’m sorry, Amal

We did all we could

after the officers handcuff me

I remember that he never really told me

he was on my side

African American

When I turned thirteen

Grandma told me she’d take me to

Africa

I told her Africa’s not a country

and she slapped my shoulder and

said I’m too smart for my own good

Umi said I should go to connect with my

Muslim brothers and sisters on the continent

and Grandma looked at her sideways

She said her church was organizing

a trip to Senegal and we’d go to someplace

called Goré Island and there’d be something

called the Door of No Return

It’s where slaves had to go through

to get on a ship sailing to America

It’s where African people lost everything

and stepped out into a future they didn’t know

So when the officers hold that door open

leading out of the courtroom

I think of that trip that never happened

and the Door of No Return

My life, my whole damn life

before that courtroom

before that trial

before that night

was like Africa

And this door leads to a slave ship

And maybe jailmaybe jail

isis America

Coming to America

The officer holding my arm

digs his nails into my skin

squeezing so tight

it feels as if he got hold

of a blood vessel

or something

because my heartmy heart

is suffocating

I clench my jaw and tighten every

muscle in my body

I want to be like steel, like iron

and I’m hoping

that I’m superhuman

The Entombment

The county jail behind the courtroom

is called the tombs

because it’s where the system

buries their dead

Clyde told me I won’t have a life sentence

and I won’t have a death sentence either

I guess this will be somewhere in between

like Jeremy Mathis

hanging in the middle

Dead to the world

but somewhere in our souls

we are both scratching at the walls

yelling to the sky

punching the air

to let everyone and everything know

that we are in here

still alive

The tombs is where we

wait for space in jail

hell

I’m sureI’m sure

The tombs is where we leave

our bodies so that our souls

can burn in an inferno

I’m sureI’m sure

This is what Jeremy Mathis’s mother

wants to believe

She said it herself

I hope he goes to hell

for what he did to my son

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