It is still open season on Black people.
But I can’t cry anymore.
My tears do not dull my pain.
They do not abate my sadness.
They do not bring the dead back to life.
They do not stop the wails of mothers and fathers, siblings, and children.
Instead, pain and anger hovers like a shroud waiting for the next death to come.
Knowing it will come.
As the nation asks why.
As if it doesn’t know.
Ancella B. Livers, PhD (She/Her)
Leadership Solutions Partner
Center for Creative Leadership