The shirt arrived.
He wears it well.
He knows that he is Black,
he knows that he is powerful.

But so so eager to sprint past
the young part most days.
It’s in his walk,
more like his saunter.

It’s in his raised eyebrows,
and in the seconds that now
hold a new heft,
as he holds my gaze.

The shirt arrived.
He wears it well.
His body filling more than just the space
of a young man’s form.

Filling out the promise
his birth presented to me ten years ago.
An exclamation point.
There is no period here.

Young, Black and Powerful.
Determined, deep, and fierce.
Perceptive, charming, and guarded.
A young man has arrived,

taking the place of my young son.