At the end of some rainbows lay Olympic size pools of blood from a body that once was… breathing. In search of a pot of gold, or hell maybe just tryna get home. Cause Skittles commercials ain’t supposed to end this way, cause drowning at the end of the rainbow isn’t the way Trayvon wanted to end this day. Trayvon wanted to get his cousin some Skittles. Not boycotting for Civil Rights or protesting some capitalistic sin. And the only thing Trayvon was occupying was his skin. He just wanted to get his cousin some Skittles. But as a young black man Trayvon’s body was inherently political. Because the rope burns around our necks are residual. Because our skin, the vault that houses the narrative of our collective souls has a memory that is impenetrable. So as Trayvon lay there, drowning in a pool of blood, I can’t help but thinking the experience was unforgettable, because his blood had been there before. Whether from the extended branch of a tree, or from the metallic bumper of an SUV, his blood had been there before. Whether from the asphalt of a New York street, or the fields of the Confederate elite, his blood had been there before.
At the end of some rainbows lay Olympic size pools of blood, from a body that once was… breathing. And on this day that rainbow gave Trayvon rope burns. Because his Skittles were Emmett’s whistle, and therefore Zimmerman considered that rope earned. Earned not by reading Pedagogy of The Oppresed, earned not by looking deeper into the incomplete Autobiography of Malcolm X, earned not by sitting in a seat when being told to move, earned not by staging a revolt against being owned and abused. Earned because Trayvon wanted to get his cousin some Skittles. You see when you’re black being political ain’t got shit to do with being “political,” cause our politics ain’t just personal; it’s residual! And the process of rainbows closing in on us is continual.
So as you sit there doubting whether or not rainbows can give a person rope burns, you may want to pause and ask Trayvon’s mom what her son earned? You may want to ask her what was her sons favorite color? Ask her if he’d earned the chance to one day find a lover. Ask her if he’d earned the chance to bring his family wealth. Ask her if he’d earned the right to live, so that he could protest about himself or so that he could care less. You see the freedom to be indifferent is what we’re gonna lose next. What is a family to do, when they are told the reason their son died is cause he looks like you?! Because his soul was housed in skin that was home to flowing narratives that had been there before. The gunman who took his life is still on the streets… don’t think I need to say much more. I just want Trayvon’s family to know that we care. And that even though his physical body may be gone his narrative is here… and there. We carry him with us each day not just in our thoughts at day or night, his story courses through our bodies, and therefore his story gives us life. Our blood has been there before.
At the end of some rainbows lay Olympic size pools of blood from a body that once was… breathing. The lynch mobs never disappeared they just got licensed handguns and badges. And as they try to wipe us out, there’s one thing that they haven’t accounted for, and that’s our spirit of always fighting back… Our blood has been here before. Taste the rainbow.
About the Author: Chris Roberts is a Poet. Scholar. Activist. B.A. Maryland ’11/M.A. SF State ’13/Incoming PhD student, Temple University. Write 2 free. Speak 2 hear. Listen 2 liberate. Elevator of Thought · Check out his blog ietherevolution.wordpress.com