NOTE: As some kind of universal-mother thing, I'm always worrying about the mortality of children. Mine, yours...
Shirts for Boys
We dress our children as we
want them to be—the way
we wrap them, like tissue
around china, in combed
cotton and terry onesies then
ballerina prints or baller Ts.
On any given day my son
is emblazoned with NASA
or Ziggy Stardust. Let him be
the awkward genius who laughs
off-cue or the boy in lab class
who can’t tell if a girl likes him.
At our playground, another
mother has put her son in one
that reads Save Black Boys just as
a car might sport Baby on Board—
a mother begging for rescue
not by but from cops who can’t
define what precious means. We
dress children in our wildest dreams—
that mother’s son free to be black
under his shirt’s rainbow peace sign,
which contrary to common belief,
is not like a bullseye at all.
©2018 Sonia Greenfield
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -FF