ось трунок блекоти його ти проковтни

Дуже зачепило чомусь. Хочу поділитись. Jericho Brown Hero She never knew one of us from another, so my brothers and I grew up fighting Over our mother’s mind Like sun-colored suitors in a Greek myth. We were willing To do evil. We kept chocolate around our mouths. The last of her mother’s lot, She cried at funerals, cried when she whipped me. She whipped me Daily. I am most interested in people who declare gratitude For their childhood beatings. None of them took what my mother gave, Waking us for school with sharp slaps to our bare thighs. That side of the family is darker. I should be grateful. So I will be— No one on Earth knows how many abortions happened Before a woman risked her freedom by giving that risk a name, By taking it to breast. I don’t know why I am alive now That I still cannot impress the woman who whipped me Into being. I turned my mother into a grandmother. She thanks me By kissing my sons. Gratitude is black— Black as a hero returning from war to a country that banked on his death. Thank God. It can’t get much darker than that. #джерико_браун