My friend Theadousia (Dosha) White, who I knew as a child in Kenilworth, was shot and killed on May 3, 2003, at the corner of Quarles Street and Kenilworth Avenue, NE D.C.
My friend Theadousia (Dosha) White, who I knew as a child in Kenilworth, was shot and killed on May 3, 2003, at the corner of Quarles Street and Kenilworth Avenue, NE D.C.
The poems below are from a larger prose essay, titled "Dosha's Requiem," about her and about my reaction to her death. The first two poems are written from the scene of the shooting. The next three are what I could remember of the funeral.
Just two weeks before her death, I had met her on that corner after not having seen her for years. The poems are listed here as a tribute to her.
Grit scrapes my cheek. I see
the sidewalk like glass. Beneath
I lie in state. The dirt is night-cool.
Soon my family will come to look
at me, tears in eyes. My blood
will comfort them. I wish
I would have brushed my teeth
after dinner. I wanted to say
goodbye to my mom. I will miss
the orange roundness of the basketball,
the drive to the hoop, the assist.
I will miss the late nights on the corner.
It's a blunt way to die, this drive by
so accurate at bulletpoint. The pass
was brief but furious. This dirt
goes down and down, though I am not
falling. A leaf touches my face.
I feel the roughness of the tree,
its hard, cool bark. Someone wraps
me in a song. Now I pass and sing.
I rebounded her bullets, this girl
that leaned against my trunk a-night.
I tried to hide her with my leaves,
but she would not accept. I tried
to warn her with my wind, but she
would not go, until she fell.
Now, when the weather turns cold
I will cry all my leaves, then sleep
through my grief. Come spring
I will call, but she will not come.
That night, one leaf only I
could manage, and after the damage
was done. Still, I saw her eyes,
surprised, as it landed. I saw her cling
to the roughness of my cool skin.
Then she let go and went.
I am glad to wake up today.
I am glad God gave me one more day.
Dosha did not wake up today.
Dosha will never wake up.
She is awake forever in heaven.
I am glad God woke me up today.
Who will call out for my cousin, who
will call out for Dosha? You wilted niggas
not worth a cent. Call out
for vengeance, face the dirty deed
and do the evil in return.
I know you hear me, lined
along the pews beside the passing dead.
Come around me now,
and we will form the mob. See
my hand? I have here cold
steel, cold steel and lead
will pierce their body too.
We'll pierce their life. Call out
for her. You dead niggas, though
alive, your time comes soon.
I come here in peace.
I will forgive the ones
who killed my sister.
I will forgive the ones
who killed my Dosha.
Dosha was a flower will
never stop blooming.
I sing a song for her
of peace and not of war.
I sing a lullaby to soothe
her sleep. I sing and go.
I leave you as I came,
in perfect peace.
Keep in touch - Joe (lappjoe@yahoo.com)