To the Women of color in my life who’ve led and guided me in this transracial adoptive walk. To the God of faithfulness and everlasting grace.

Brown hands hold

Contrasting against the paleness of mine.

My grip holding

So tight—

Closing my eyes to the ever unfolding

Stories and wrongs that

Transcend belief.

Lord, how long have you heard

The cries of black mothers?

Lord, forgive my pride

Seeped in self-worth.

My strength—

Derived in privilege.

My rosy glasses

Glossing over 400 years of abuse.

Thinking that I know enough

That change will happen

While I sit with hands folded.

Lord, mend us.

Let them hear:

I cannot BREATHE.

Enough is enough.

Let them see my son

When he is grown

As beautiful.

As created in your image.

As worthy.

Lord, help me to let go.

Trust—that you love my black son

More than this heart pumping inside my breast

That bleeds with our lost sons

Tamir

Michael

Ahmed

Names I cannot name—

Their mothers who also weep.

Hear our cries, O Lord.

Lord, guide my heart.

Break down my anger for those

Who Choose not to see the inequality.

Who Say they don’t see color.

Don’t See the injustice.

The Layers of dark cruel history

Defining the unconscious designs

That my son stands upon

And defines his future and lifespan.

Lord, help me to see my son grown.

Preserve his beautiful joy

His sensitive spirit

His fulfilling promise as a son of the King.

Let not his head be bowed to anyone but You.

Protect his head, his heart

From the impending weight

That shackles his brothers.

Mercy, rain down on all of us.