I went to bed two nights ago
clutching my pillow,
pressing my quaking chest into the firmness of it,
praying, silently, for the throbbing to stop,
and the ache to pass.
I went to bed two nights ago
searching for peace.
But the horrific mages I turned off hours before
kept flashing, like a slideshow —
the glass breaking,
the smoke rising,
and those paid to serve and protect, running.
I went to bed two nights ago
searching for silence.
But my mind kept pleading with me
to find the answers to my children’s questions.
My answers only probed more questions.
What was good about chains that anchored the bodies of souls who wanted to fly?
What is good about continued psychological enslavement?
What is good about getting the life squeezed out of your body because you are black?
What is good about seeing these images
and reliving this tension — EVERYDAY?
While I wonder
about the weight of these atrocities, of the past and present,
it wounds me to think humanity has always been chaotic.
Today, I find guidance
in the Jamaican proverb “Cut an guh tru.”
We must cut and go through to find peace.
We must cut and go through to find each other’s heart.
