“I wrote this poem shortly after the murder of Malcolm Latiff Shabazz, Malcolm X's grandson, in Mexico City. I was struck by the fact that three generations—Malcom X, his—Malcolm X, his father, and his grandson had all met tragic and premature ends and by the ways his mother, his wife, Betty Shabazz, and his daughters were affected in tandem. Weighing the consequences of genius, of possessing a mind that speaks outward toward the world, is also a mind that sometimes cannot rest in a world where that is still an offense punishable by death. This recalls the work, life, and death of Jean-Michel Basquiat, whose dialogue with the past, present, and future we may just be beginning to actually decipher. The poem also calls the reader to the personal interiority of the speaker, bringing attention to the fact that the fates of these iconic figures are also shared by many lesser known Black men and women who wrestle with the familial consequences of state violence.”
—Kristina Kay Robinson