while they searched for stripes.
He said, “fuck you, white
man. we have been
curled too long. nothing
is sacred, not your
white face nor any
land that separates
until some voices
squat with spasms.”
Do not speak to me of living.
life is obscene with crowds
of white on black.
Death is my pulse.
what might have been
is not for him/or me
but what could have been
After Malcolm X is assassinated she realizes that death is a constant thing and a constant threat. She realizes she must live like she will die the next day so she won’t hold anything back.
Malcolm