When I say hold us in prayer   I mean touch
Black bodies as if
they are children knowing pain
for the first time
     With your hands
I mean rescue
What is a prayer if not a shield?
What is touch if not food?

*****

For 10 weeks, we will feature one poem per week from Surveillance, the new chapbook available now from Writ Large Press. These poems by Ashaki M. Jackson explore police killings of Blacks captured on video and the public’s consumption of these videos. Previous poems: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9