Evidence

Called District 22 again today,  
To send the new evidence my doctors saved,  
Meticulously vetted and preened,  
During those years you missed,  
The ones in between.  

See these twenty scars,  
Dancing in scarlet and indigo? 
Each one has a story to tell,   
Of twenty-five bones that never fell.

Yes, here’s the new evidence—  
One testimony never fully told
Far past statutes of limitations
Waiting for justice to unfold.  

District 22: can we pause to hear the story,
Of three boys- each sixteen,  
And one girl: fourteen?
Alone, yet caught in between,
Never arrested,
Though in plain sight,  
Laden in privilege,
Hidden in prideful skin: alabaster white.

You recorded their version.  

Here’s mine:
I remember their shaved heads
With vacant crazed eyes, all ablaze
‘What was I wearing, you ask?’
It’s all bit of a haze, but I remember clearly:
White T-shirts and fitted jeans,
Shiny steel-toed boots,   
No good for the ‘95 heat.   

What’s that—    
‘Why did you wait?’
Yes, it has been some time.  
‘Not much you can do now,  
Try to move on and forget?’  
Oh, yes, and uh huh, 
try to suppress—  
14 and 88, too? 

I’ll get right on that,   

Thank you, District 22.
But dear officer,  
Here is the physical evidence I meant to bring: 
These mended bones,
A survivor: all in repose
With MRIs and CT scans, complete,  
Add them to Chicago’s record- 
As proof 
of what you never chose to see.