acrylic on canvas
I'd imagine that after Emmitt Till was snatched out of his home he was taken into a green lush and wooded area by the Talahatchie River in Mississippi. Screaming. Scared. I remember seeing the photos of Emmitt's decomposed body as he lay in the casket. I applaud Ms. Till for her intentionally "showing off" the ways of america.
I also imagine the spirits before him rescued him to place him back into the crosshairs of america, knowing that his spirit, what he represented, what he meant to us, could not be killed. He would live eternally.
The river is not still
It’s disturbed by the lustful lapping,
the sound of the breaking of its
body as it assumed his.
The gurgling of lungs
after the water passed the equator
sleep at night.
The white men slept well,
proud of themselves
after feeding their deadened souls
The casket was stocked
that day/a disfigured body/
america's favorite seniior picture,
taken with the sounds of a mother crying.