battle scars
by Ty Halton
between Bakersfield, CA and Accra, Ghana
i’ve never been to war
i’ve never been to war
i’ve never been to war
if you’ve never been to war,
then where did you get all those scars?
these open wounds won’t heal
slashes / stabs / searing burns
myself, inflicted
by perceptions
by society
the word “she” and “her”
branded on my black skin
labeling my life like livestock
at a county fair
flesh rots from the inside
tries to get out
tries to escape
claws its way from the pit of my soul
thrashes about my throat
fights tooth and nail
with my every tooth and nail
so, you want to know how i got these scars?
i destroyed myself inside
because the outside destroys me
i’ve never been to war
i’ve never been to war
i’ve never been to war
the first dinner after…
by Ty Halton
Between Bakersfield, CA and Accra, Ghana
TW // suicide
vacant black eyes
sunk deep in their sockets
decayed smiles, teeth
sharp enough to tear flesh
weather / college / kids
keep conversations short
like the temper of the man
at the head of the table
his head clinging to his shoulders
by a thread of hope
thinner than the thread of rope
that he found around his son’s neck
in the closet down the hall
desperate prayers ‘round the table
fall on god’s deaf ears
no god here
i saw the devil
in father’s eyes
he writhes
slithers out of those sullen sunken sockets
crawls across the table
slowly
taints with every touch
the tension in the room
so tight no one notices
the devil standing, watching
father’s disappointment
mother’s depression
my disdain for their lifestyle
empty spot where my brother once sat
the devil leaning, leering
deciding which one of us
he will take next
When it Came
by Ty Halton
Between Bakersfield, CA and Accra, Ghana
TW // graphic death
When Emmitt Till was murdered
Surrounded by the cheers of a lynch mob
Solely for being accused of offending
A white woman,
Yes, I said accused,
That is when the resentment came.
When Trayvon Martin
Was gunned down
For nothing more than walking back from the corner store
In a hoodie with a bag of Skittles
Yes, I said Skittles,
That is when the anger came.
When Tamir Rice
Laid in a pool of his own blood,
The crimson liquid staining his extra-small tee shirt
After being killed over a toy gun,
Yes, I said a toy gun,
That is when the sorrow came.
When I realized that there is a very real possibility
That my wife would someday hear
The melody of my breath trill and crescendo through the air like an arpeggio
Played on the ivory keys of a piano for the very last time,
Yes, I said the last very last time,
That is when the fear came.
originally published in The Runner Review: ISSUE 5
Ty Halton
Ty Halton is a playwright and poet. They are originally from Bakersfield, California and currently lives between Bakersfield and Accra, Ghana. They earned their BA in Theatre and English from CSU Bakersfield and is currently working toward their MFA in Playwriting at Antioch University, Santa Barbara. In their spare time, they like to go for hikes with their dog.
Header Image by Michal Matlon