When a Whistle Becomes Death: An Ode to Emmett Till
by Nicole Nicholson
This was my first trip away from her.
She was calmly trying to unpack her feelings
While frantically trying to pack my bags--
I was excited so I could not understand her fears.
Nor could I dry her tears.
I saw them fall into my bag.
Those tears would follow me to my destination; they would haunt many generations--
She sensed something I could not see.
Something that was about to be snapshots of her childhood and
she tied them in with me.
She mourned my innocence not realizing it would catapult me
Into centuries to come.
I asked her what was wrong
She told me she wanted me to stay but knew she could not pay for me to not know the other side of me
She closed my bag but I could still see remnants of her fear hanging out
I wish I knew what all her feelings were about I asked her again
“Mama, do you want me to stay?”
She responded, “I know you have to go away.”
That was the last time we spoke
As I boarded a train to Alabama
I hugged her tightly to my chest
Who knew a ‘whistle?ʼ would create civil unrest
I was just walking and stepped into my death
I know my mother prayed.
Wished she begged me to stay.
Hugged me one last time--
It was never to be.
As I hung from a tree,
Her fears came to life
The place she escaped became the place I died.
She was calmly trying to unpack her feelings
While frantically trying to pack my bags--
I was excited so I could not understand her fears.
Nor could I dry her tears.
I saw them fall into my bag.
Those tears would follow me to my destination; they would haunt many generations--
She sensed something I could not see.
Something that was about to be snapshots of her childhood and
she tied them in with me.
She mourned my innocence not realizing it would catapult me
Into centuries to come.
I asked her what was wrong
She told me she wanted me to stay but knew she could not pay for me to not know the other side of me
She closed my bag but I could still see remnants of her fear hanging out
I wish I knew what all her feelings were about I asked her again
“Mama, do you want me to stay?”
She responded, “I know you have to go away.”
That was the last time we spoke
As I boarded a train to Alabama
I hugged her tightly to my chest
Who knew a ‘whistle?ʼ would create civil unrest
I was just walking and stepped into my death
I know my mother prayed.
Wished she begged me to stay.
Hugged me one last time--
It was never to be.
As I hung from a tree,
Her fears came to life
The place she escaped became the place I died.