after Ruthie Wilson Gilmore and Evie Shockley
listen.
it’s in, not at. in the whistle & hiss, the steam of your breath as you chant
we ready (we ready), we comin (we comin) atop of a jail
building in ruins. yes, it’s in your breath & in the never dwindling
kindle of your fingertips as you reach out & touch
the hands of your kindred, the living & your dead, who keep you here
right here where we offer ourselves as the remains of the remaining
future. (keep breathing. don’t stop now). yes, in your breath
& in your hands that fend off, defend us
from the state that craves our death, seeks to snuff our breath
lick the bones. chew the sinew. & in the same hands tending
the fire, tending to the tendons pulled in flight, to bedraggled roots
of razed hawthorn trees, to the composting of our
present. tending to the dream that what we need & what others have believed
to be found nowhere can be found in the now here, like
in those moments you said, “rent shouldn’t exist, so here’s a little money for it”
or “don’t got money for rent, but take
all the food you want” or “don’t got food, but wrap yourself up in this”
or “don’t have anything to wear, but here’s a card. been thinking
of you. & a song written for you.
& a milkweed found by chance &
the paper you’ve been wanting so you can write your mama a letter to say you’re okay”
or “here’s a map of the hidden
ways to get back safe.”
listen:
we’ve always already been molding & shaping
spinning & folding, birthing & sharing
can you feel it? in our breath & in our hands. between us, we’ve got
the motherworld, the whole motherworld in our breath & in our hands.
— Destiny Hemphill (from The Quarry: A Social Justice Poetry Database)