I want to say I admired their willingness to be vulnerable / the
strength to trust a world / won’t take what’s yours, which could
be true if bravery means ignorance of danger, or to decide,
foolishly, the consequence don’t outweigh the good in trusting
others, but I’ve seen others / dig their eyes through my curved
spine when I walk with a white man, and I know Mildred did
too. It’s always an/other starting history. The call that tipped
Caroline county / cops to action when the tired moon eased high
to sleep then Sheriff Brooks and his deputies eased through the
Lovings’ door / didn’t stop / to admire the Lovings’ trust
leaving / the door unlocked / they stole through the loving nest
with the Lovings nestled in sleep, the cops’ flashlights
sweeping kitchen and clattered pans / the work boots scattered
by the easy chair / carpeted halls / paisley lamps and picture
frames / the bulb bouncing the walls and Brooks in chase. He
saw the Lovings. His tongue clicked off / his round teeth the
sound of a lock snapped shut. Didn’t anyone teach Mildred to
trust / is to leave yourself / open to dogs with teeth / called law
in their jaws. Didn’t anyone teach Mildred the law / like love /
ain’t built on reason? But the Lovings were no more blind in
their trust of others than their trust of what protected them, their
marriage certificate framed on the wall, proof of lawful union
but Brooks said that’s no good here and locked them up. How
to know what protects me / won’t end me? The law means no
good / from whispers at Wal-Mart / when the waitress refuses
me eye-contact / when my cousins wonder why I like white
boys aloud / and I think at least our love is legal now, like the
law never legalized the wrong / thing but who could imagine
the security I find in his arms as he wraps me in sleep as
anything but beautiful?