A Timeline of Anniversaries
Remembering Past Pulse, Political Pain, and Persistent Pandemics
[In this poetic prose reflection marking moments of trauma over the past five years, I offer a timeline of personal triggers and an outline for personal processing as I reflect on the upcoming anniversary of the Pulse killings and the shared grief and loss that has followed.]
Summer 2016
June 12
I wake up speechless
117 mostly black and brown
bodies
cover the dance floor like layered carpet
one on top of the other
on top of the other
on top of the
Other…
they are targeted as Other
different, queer, loving, free, breathing
life
49 mostly black and brown
bodies
left breathless
bullet holes holding harm
skin to skin to skin
there is no pulse, at Pulse
i am speechless
partners, and cousins, and lovers and mothers, strangers and friends’
broken bloodied bulleted bodies cover the bathroom floor in puzzle pieces
jagged edges of elbows, arms, legs
broken
over lifelessness
beautiful and bodacious bodies offered as shields
all heart, all love, no space
or time to think
just react when
hate
snuck in the front door of a safe space, a brave place
laughter made latitudes, tongue rings and tattoos
drag kings, flirtation and passion every which a way
love poured into every inch of the room
all heart and no fear
love will always trump hate
but
there is no pulse, at pulse
i feel implicated, yet set apart
a blackgirl ally
whose body
wears privilege like an invisible marker
female and femme
cissexual and straight
i am a bystander, standing by
speechless
Fall 2016
November 12
i wake up speechless
every black and brown body in the US is in danger
trans, cis, male, masculine, female, feminine, undocumented, UnChristian
women’s rights, LGBT rights, reproductive rights, civil and political rights, judicial rights, equal rights
our rights
lingering like deep breaths in between your consciousness
& i can’t breathe
this retrograde bullshit is intended to terrorize beautiful, black, extraordinarily brown marginalized bodies
the ku klux klan is passing out flyers where i live
& marching on bridges where i come from
this cannot be normal
is this the new normal?
apathy over empathy
over anger over fear
over disillusionment over optimism
over hope
our first black president didn’t call out or fix racism
his Post-Bush promises became legacies i learned to rely on
the rights of me and my people
our guaranteed humanity
compromised by the weight of white supremacy
the pull of patriarchy
these are powerful drugs
black and brown nonconforming bodies and identities remain
in jeopardy in a country no longer pretending to be post-racial
no longer pretending to not be racist
no longer hiding xenophobia, homophobia, transphobia, sexism, race-ism
our biracial black president was not evidence of
hope over optimism over disillusionment
over fear over anger
over empathy over apathy
because 45 could grab me by the pussy
without consequence
and the complicity of whiteness is without words
not speechless,
without words
not voiceless
without words
not silenced
without words
because words alone can’t fix what is broken
or be manipulated in enough ways to distract from the harm of erasure and ongoing victimization
my speechlessness finds words
i’m mad as hell
broken open
terrified
awake
determined
resilient
but i feel at risk
disposable
terrorized on home land, made to feel
unwelcome, unsafe, un-American
Winter 2020
February 23
Ahmaud Arbery is murdered while running in his neighborhood.
Spring 2020
March 13
Breonna Taylor is murdered while sleeping in her home.
Spring 2020
May 25
George Floyd is murdered in the street.
And 23,473 people had died of coronavirus.
In January I had bought a leather bound calendar with 2020 sprawled on the front in boastful block print
for the first time in years
i had the intention of writing down my goals
for the first time since a digital calendars on my android started carrying my scheduled responsibilities
and womanly duties
i planned handwritten entries of a year of intention and prophesy
months later the empty calendar was overlooked and underbooked,
18 months of blank pages and no notes
i couldn’t tell if I didn’t want to record or remember the emptiness
or if I didn’t know how to write down
death and devastation
drowning my year of optimism
in tears
18 months of rising death rates due to COVID
18 months of racist murder and political incompetence
18 months of self-isolation and social distancing
18 months of coronavirus’ carnage
dead bodies collected in refrigerator trucks
morgues overflowing from makeshift hospital triages
concrete floors turn to tombs, beds become body bags
Winter 2021
January 6.
my lipstick stained smirked lips are hidden behind my masked face
and my sanitized hands are carefully placed under the cape, which drapes them like gloves, careful to not touch anything not attached to or wrapped around my body
i am sitting in my stylist’s chair for the first time in too many months to count
the company is a reprieve
for hope over fear
over isolation over risk
over touch over suspicion
over cautious calm
the tv is intuitively tuned in to the news
Trump’s tantrum rally is playing in the background
of our overdue girl talk that rushes between days turned weeks turned months of separation
our back and forth “how you doings?” are repeated and hunkered down with the exterior doors locked
to keep out unnecessary and uninvited company because of COVID
& because all white people look white today
as we watch white faces, furious and frantic
gather together as if for prayer
if prayer were for destruction
we are prepared for tears, not bloodshed, as we simultaneousy await Georgia runoff election results
i feel uneasy as the TV camera feeds focus for too long on the wide shot
not enough focus on what is happening up close
the numbness of loneliness is abated by the unshakable fear of inevitable infection
an unending recycling of deadly strains of virus and dangerous strains of misinformation
my hair is held together with thread
my heart is held together with hope
but i fear for the life of black and brown people everywhere
from speechlessness to breathlessness
there is no pulse, anywhere
that we can truly trust.
we must
speak.
breathe.
remember.