our names this country’s wood / for the fire
The joke is that I was once heartbroken enough to invent my own apocalypse. The joke is that I stayed alive long enough to witness a few real ones. The joke—and this is why I suspect no one laughs—acknowledges that we are perhaps coming to a collective understanding that there is a door closing, more quickly for some than for others, and that most of us are on the wrong side of it.
— from In Defense of Despair by Hanif Abdurraqib
I hold my honey and I store my bread
In little jars and cabinets of my will.
I label clearly, and each latch and lid
I bid, Be firm till I return from hell.
I am very hungry. I am incomplete.
And none can tell when I may dine again.
— from my dreams, my works, must wait till after hell by Gwendolyn Brooks
The future of the square has been a subject of heated debate. Across the nation, other memorials honoring Floyd and the Black Lives Matter movement have been removed, vandalized, or fallen into disrepair. As symbols of Floyd’s place in history have faded, so too have hopes for federal police reform, commitments to diversity, equity and inclusion and American optimism about the future of racial justice.
— George Floyd’s legacy under siege as racial justice efforts lose ground, memorials removed (USA Today)
Attribution
my people I follow you like constellations we hear glass smashing the street & the nights opening dark our names this country’s wood for the fire my people my people the long years we’ve survived the long years yet to come I see you map my sky the light your lantern long ahead & I follow I follow — from If They Come For Us by Fatimah Asghar