5 June 2020
The point is not to
capture an instant, arrest it, put it in cuffs and haul it to jail;
nor is it to push it down to the sidewalk, watching it bleed from the
head. Memory ought not be incarceration, but opening. The pronoun
can’t afford its abstraction; that was an old man pushed to the
ground by a policeman. National Guard troops stand shoulder to shoulder in Lafayette
Park, behind fences, shining beams of light at protesters on the
other side, not to see them, rather not to be seen by them. There were
slave auctions in that park. The incarcerated body remains
not in the bronze of a statue, but behind the thin skin of a police line.
You can fence out skin, but not the breath.
4 comments:
Oh, Susan!! So beautifully, painfully, perfectly done. I'd suggest ending on "You can fence out skin, but not the breath."
I'd like to pick out some favorite sentences, but all the rest of them would qualify.
<3
Good idea, Karen, though the "breathe, baby, breathe" alludes to "burn, baby, burn" of the Watts riots. Still, I think your suggestion is probably for the best.
I got the allusion, but I agree with Karen that you don't need it. I'd start a poem with "Breathe, baby, breathe," though. And I do love, "Memory ought not be incarceration, but opening."
Thanks, taking sage advice!
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