poem 7/30: bars

i barely remember your voice
but i do remember
thick plated bullet proof glass
baritone notes busting through static filled phones
mommy just wants to hug you
wrinkles in her forehead displaying her distaste in this place
but her children need to know their blood
uncle was always in high spirits
despite the circumstances
victim of "wrong place, wrong time"
beautiful mind confined to an 8X8 cell
no windows to feed you light
designed to break your spirit
but in my young age, I already admired your strength
i was only 7, jabari was three
you loved us like you made us
told mommy not to be so hard
encouraged my banging on tables, pots and pans
critiqued my poetry, told me to keep writing
you passed your passions through the bars to us
to keep yourself alive
never got out when you were supposed to
mommy whispered to daddy while at home
you were fighting everyday
self defense
so security at its maximum was your destination
gave all of yourself to us
like you knew you were leaving soon
and when you came home, you were finally Freed a couple of years later
Jabari's too young to remember your funeral
but let mommy tell it
he acts just like you
evidence that you're still here
and i keep writing
drumming
teaching
living
for you, beyond the bars.