Thorna ran out into the street in underwear;

it was dark that night and she careless

and swept away with her own words and drink

sang a song about law school and how she

was not white. The neighbors flicked on lights

and soon the police arrived. Once a black girl

screamed and was shoved into a white truck.

Larry called the cops and they never came.

And I was searching for something of words

falling from the open sky like snow flakes,

and how to know life was measured in fake

fawning? We were young and Thorna stood

firm, her black body sleek like a restless star

laughing off wide-eyed stares, all free flair,

wordy and wild, an unbroken poem or sprint

across the dewy grass. Such freedom cannot

be allowed in the South. She was arrested

singing.