the humanity
This isn’t going to sound the way I would like it to; the way it feels in my heart. I’ll write it down anyway.
After I had my children, here is what I thought: There is no earthly way any person would kill another person if they knew what it meant to give birth to a human being.
The labor of it. The pain, the joy! The pain, the joy. The joy, the pain and so much pain and then, boom. You’re here. You’re here! We’ve all been waiting for you. I’ve been waiting for you. I open up my heart to you, tender and tired. I let you out and there you are.
I can’t imagine.
He was here, then he was not. He was not there, his life stolen. I think of his mother. I think of his mother. I think of the sounds that came from her body when she found out. The phone call. How many folks live their whole lives waiting for the call? How many have the luxury of not hearing this sustained note of fear in their ear every single day?
The cost of a life. The value of it. They have no idea. No clue at all. Have you ever pushed a human being out of your body? I have. I pushed out two. It hurt, there’s no way around it. The craziest sounds came from my body while I was doing it. Waves and waves of contractions. There was a before and an after, just like now, but softer and full of possibility, of future. Adia said this is labor pain, this is the pain of change. She knows. She’s done it twice.
There is a before and after for all of us. There is a before and after for those who are losing the loves of their lives, their fathers, their grandmothers with years yet to live, their dear friends, mentors, their mothers, their sons.
How dare you, I say. No, no, no, I say. I don’t understand, I say.
It’s not fair. I sit here, safe on my couch while somewhere, a different mother makes herself into a pool of tears.
Perfect Form
North Charleston, South Carolina, April 4, 2015
Walter Scott must have been a track athlete
before serving his country, having children:
his knees were high, elbows bent
at 90 degrees as his arms pumped
close to his sides, back straight and head up
as each foot landed in front of the other.
Too much majesty in his last strides.
So much depends on instinct, ingrained
legacies and American pastimes.
Relays where everyone on the team wins
remain a dream. Olympic arrogance,
black men chased for sport —
heat after heat
of longstanding, savage races
that always finish the same way.
My guess is Walter Scott ran distances
and sprinted, whatever his life events
required. Years of training and technique
are not forgotten, even at 50. Even after being
tased out of his right mind. Even in peril
the body remembers what it has been
taught, keeping perfect form
during his final dash.
Copyright © 2015 Kamilah Aisha Moon.
