“I am trapped on a desert of raw gunshot wounds
and a dead child dragging his shattered black
face off the edge of my sleep
blood from his punctured cheeks and shoulders
is the only liquid for miles
and my stomach
churns at the imagined taste while
my mouth splits into dry lips
without loyalty or reason
thirsting for the wetness of his blood
as it sinks into the whiteness
of the desert where I am lost
without imagery or magic
trying to make power out of hatred and destruction
trying to heal my dying son with kisses
only the sun will bleach his bones quicker.”
—Audre Lorde, from Power
In April 1973, a 10 year old Black child named Clifford Glover was shot in the back by a plain clothes police officer.
The officer, Thomas Shea was the first NYPD officer to ever be charged and go to trial for murder. He was found innocent by his predominantly White jury and faced no penalties, even though he was caught on tape leaning over the dead child’s body and saying “Die you little motherfucker.”
He also professed to shooting him because of his “color.”
In response to this atrocity, Audre Lorde wrote Power one of the most stunning and heartwrenching pieces of poetry ever written.
I keep playing the excerpt (above) from this poem in my mind as I try to imagine the pain and trauma felt by the Black community right now.
The whole piece can be found here.
—natalie michelle
Flommist Natalie Michelle doesn’t have a bio. She just rants. Copyright © 2020 Natalie Michelle.
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