Norene Cashen
—for Bryan Stevenson
Today a bullet asked me
where the world is going.
Then it was a street
I walked on.
Then it was a third grader speaking Spanish.
Then it was a riot nobody paid attention to.
Then it was the sun that opened itself.
It was the night-
blooming Jasmine, which is tender and white
and black, and round with gray feathers.
It flew away.
It came back.
The next time I didn’t recognize it
till I felt it burn through my chest.
I put up my hands
and died.