My Work

Philando Castile

people holding placards protesting outdoors

I’ve watched
too many movies with
prosthetic heads exploding
gory scenes and blood splashing
the camera for effect
as the hero saves the world,
too many viral videos shared
through Facebook
for laughs
to cringe at

So when I watch
the red that pools out over his
white t-shirt it doesn’t look real.
“Please don’t tell me my boyfriend is dead.”
The blood dripping from his
mouth doesn’t look real.
I can’t comprehend it.
The idea
that this is real
is too much.

I watch this.
You watch this.
Lavish watched it.
The 4 year old little girl
in the back watched it.
Philando’s shallow breaths and
dimming eyes watched it
as his head slips back between the seats
his arm bending deeper at the elbow
4 holes weeping blood
pleading up to the officer.

“Keep your hands where they are. Don’t touch him.”
The barrel of the officer’s gun
continues to stare.

I weep silently on the train
as the screen goes dark.

“Lord, he didn’t deserve this.”
I hear her screaming.
“We’re innocent people.”
I hear her praying.

“Please Jesus, no. Please no.
Please no, don’t let him be gone.”

Philando is gone.

It’s not a movie with special effects
no miracles, no plot twists.
It’s not a video to be shared
across your feed
for a laugh
to cringe at

We sat there and together
we watched an innocent man die.

Don’t forget that.

Don’t ever forget that you watched
Philando’s last breaths,
blood spilling from his mouth.

Don’t ever forget that could be you
dying in the driver’s seat.

We all watched Philando die today.

We all watched an innocent, Black man die today.

And we can no longer just keep watching.

(I originally posted this on Facebook after seeing the video of Philando’s execution and crying on the train home. Deaths like Philando’s and hundreds of others continue to happen across the country, and in turn we must continue to take action in whatever forms available to us.)

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