Our Memorializations Should Echo Thunder

Weathering red bricks match the palms of their molders—

molders who carried the weight

of their masters’ evil convictions 

mortared into legacies—

the master that my peers and professors marvel over.

Oh Maker, how perfect is this institution 

for young minds like yours and theirs and mine,

“For Alma Mater still there’ll be”

serpentined bricks supposed to dampen the odes of those 

who really ain’t free. 

Weathering our pockets, for we’ve paid our dues. 

Our academic weaponry drawn

gun salutes for the fight of those without names, 

marked as their duties of: Mother. Father. Laborer. Farmer. Carpenter.

at the stone cold memorial. 

Oh UVA, how I mustn’t complain

not after our beloved library was recently reclaimed

years after the remembrance of enslaved labor came

what even is a memorial without a full first, middle, and last name.

Sam.         Lewis.         Roda.          Tom.          Willis. 

Gilbert.      Dick.           Warner.       Ceaser.      Abraham. 

William.     Green.        Ned.            John.         Bob.    

Alfred.       Moses.        Randel…

Whether they let the cracks of lightning and flashes of time

resound louder than their spirits is the true landmark

it is the red clay that guides our soles through grounds

it is that feeling we must maintain with pride

it is our memorialization that echoes thunder.