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​​​The Fissured Tongue Series 

Some languages need not be translated
Michael Hatcher
Some languages need not be translated.
When a grown man cries out for his mother 
Or when a woman is ripped from the comfort of this planet
By the bright sunrise of loud banging 
And wild bullets it sticks with you. 
It rolls over everything like a thick fog.
Until everyone you love is jaded 
And covered in smoke.

All of my friends are matches.
Strike our heads and we will catch fire.
That is not a threat.
It is a covenant with the most high.
It is an obscure passage from a lost holy book,
Written on the back of our eyelids that reads in case of emergency 
Burn everything! 

America has been on fire.
There are a privileged few who don’t want to see it 
But most of us are covered in smoke.
Last night most of us watched the sky open up. 
It was getting itself ready to receive more black and brown bodies,

There is no natural end to hunting season 
The fear is tangible 
The fear is we will return the gifts that were laid at our door steps 
That are laid at our doorstep, 
But that is not our way. 

There is no race war. 
The only war is a war on racism,
And we are armed to the teeth.
We are an army of everybody, 
An all inclusive wrecking ball.

Please save the explanations and the apologies for the ghost.
It’s too late now, the choir boys have joined the lynch mob. 
In just a few minutes we are going to be breathing just fine.
Deep breaths. 

The ability to inhale as much of this country as we want to,
We’ve paid for that and then some,
We’ve seen so many of our family members 
Bleeding on the same side walks
Our grandparents weren’t allowed to walk on. 
“Tired” is not the word. 

The word is “now.” 
The word is “today.”

The revolution will not only be televised
It will be on demand. 
This is one we can watch over and over 

Why should I give my children the “talk?”

Why should I have to tell them to call me if they ever get pulled over?
It might be our last chance to speak, 
I say no. 
I say no more. 

I say there is irony in stolen property 
Being blamed for doing property damage.

Is that all you got?
What kind of God is worried about bean bags and tear gas?

Hold on George we got this.
Breonna we got you,
Tell Ahmaud this aint over.

We are just getting comfortable.
The good apples are starting to separate themselves from the bad ones. 

Tell the sky there is nothing coming tonight or tomorrow 
Some languages don’t need to be translated.

My connection to my people has nothing to do with a family tree

So each time a news anchor tells that tragic story, 
That same tragic story,
I lose something 
I can never get back.

And I want everything back.
This is not a threat.
It’s a covenant. 
Picture
Retrieved from The MET Open Access
About the Author

Michael Hatcher is poet, writer, and performer who was raised in Fort Worth, Texas. In 2012 Michael self-published his own chapbook titled "Things I Say in Crowded Rooms." A veteran of poetry slam, he has represented several Dallas and Fort Worth area slam teams four times at the National Poetry Slam. Michael served as slam master on the Inkwell Slam Team for two years. Michael has also performed and facilitated workshops at schools, theaters, libraries, bookstores, bars, and poetry venues across the United States. Michael is a nature lover who enjoys botany and gardening at his home in Austin, Texas.

About the Work

"My writing is my best attempt at bending or altering the boundaries placed on words. From what I’ve gathered about the work at Inverted Syntax, that seems to be a common goal amongst some of they artist they feature. I appreciate that."
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