“Whose Shoulders” By Shannon Lockhart

I hear that voice echo throughout

my body

Some days it is soft.

A gentle reminder to reach out;

Other days it catches me off

guard.

Accusingly.

I simply don’t know; whose

shoulder I can cry on

It is hard enough to simply show

up,

and though I see a room filled

with shoulders

I cannot expose myself in that

way

If I cry on your shoulder, I might

release who I am

with such force; that I might

disappear

You will see too much of me,

and have the power

to poison me with ridicule.

My grief swallows me up

Erases my boundaries

Our son was murdered September 15, 2020, right around the corner from his home. The coroner knocked on our door the following morning to tell us our son was dead. We asked “How did she know? And she responded that she viewed his body in the morgue. I immediately told her that she did not know who my son was and that she was wrong. I called to my husband to come downstairs and she again told us both that our son was dead. I asked, “how do you know it was him”. She said, “ma’am it was him.” She then handed us a plastic bag with my son’s personal items in it. It was at that moment we realized our son was taken from us in the night and we would never get him back.

There are many Black mothers and Black fathers who are losing their children in the city of Louisville each day and night. When will it all stop? How many of our children have to die before we realize we need to help one another through all of this? The pain is real. The trauma is real. The hurt is outrageously real. The loss is gut wrenching.