POEM — May You Never

May you never drink

Flint’s water,

or be shot down

on the swings,

in the street,

in your car,

with your family,

just for moving through life

with a different complexion.

May you never face

water cannons,

or rubber bullets

in the dark,

in the cold,

with your tribe,

just for daring to protest,

to protect,

to take a stand.

May you never hear

you are in some way less

because of size, because of color,

because of love, because of choice,

or because someone took

what they wanted

without consent,

without regard,
without respect.

And may you never smell

books burning,

or human flesh,

in round-the-clock ovens

(your father, your mother,

your sister, your brother),

because no one thought

we could hate each other

that much.

 

*

Susannah Jordan earned an MFA in Creative Nonfiction from Queens University of Charlotte, where she served as Nonfiction Editorial Assistant for Qu, the school’s literary magazine. Her flash fiction and poetry have appeared in Apocrypha and Abstractions, The Story Shack, 50-Word Stories, and Eskimo Pie. Her artwork and photography have appeared in Short, Fast, and Deadly, Gravel, The Tishman Review, and Oxford Magazine.