Aftermath

I spent much of last Thursday on an airplane, weeping and trying to write about the events of the first half of the week. Since then, I have been in a largely-offline, slightly surreal Indiana family reunion bubble, hearing bits and pieces of information about subsequent tragedies and trying to navigate the emotional juxtaposition of grief, fear and anger on the one side, and celebration of my grandmother’s 95 years of life, love and courage on the other.

While there’s a part of me that feels uncertain about sharing anything when I am so minimally informed about the later events of this incredibly painful week, there is a more substantial part that knows without a doubt that nothing that has happened since Thursday morning changes how I felt (and feel) in the wake of the shootings of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile on Tuesday and Wednesday.

Other lives, events and realities matter, of course, very greatly, but nothing about them detracts from the fact that black lives matter… so, so much… every day… to God, to me personally, to the fabric of our shared human experience… no matter what else is happening, related or unrelated, in the world around us…

And so, while these words are feeble and completely insufficient, I offer them to my beloved brothers and sisters who face injustice, oppression and danger with profound courage and resilience. I love you, I grieve with you, and I will continue to learn how better to stand with you in the ongoing human rights struggle.


Aftermath

The grief settles on my shoulders
like an insatiable bird of prey—
talons and beak gouging my flesh
until the blood streams down my face and arms—
angry red rivulets that mourn
but can never match
the lifeblood that pours from the gaping wounds
of another brother gunned down
during a routine traffic stop.

The fear takes up residence inside my chest
like an implacable boa—
mercilessly constricting my heart
as the images of endangered loved ones—
innocent, trusting brown children,
earnestly striving black men—
flash through my mind,
endearing smiles on their faces
arbitrary targets on their backs.

Guilt and despair shred my soul
like a ravenous lion—
dismembering the illusion of progress,
stripping away idealistic visions of justice and peace,
devouring the notion that I will ever be able to do anything
that will begin to atone for the atrocities
perpetuated under the protective cover of white privilege.

And yet…
somehow…
against all odds
and every expectation…
determination kneads my belly
like a relentlessly purring tabby—
on her eighth or ninth life,
to be sure,
but unwilling and unable to expire
while those against whom the attack is leveled
arise to face another day
and another
and still another
heart-breakingly aware that they may not reach
the Promised Land
yet completely committed to pressing toward it
just the same.

© 2016
Alexis Spencer-Byers