My Five Stages of Grief in 2015 © Farah Lawal Harris
in psychology,
the Kübler-Ross model describes the five stages of grief
as a series of emotional stages one experiences
when faced with their own impending death
or the death of someone else.
the five stages are:
denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
here are mine:
1.
my mom and dad are immigrants
who came to the U.S. on their own volition,
got student visas to go to college
because it was a smart life decision.
i was born in this country, but Nigeria is in my veins.
now, more than ever, i cling to my ancestors’ names:
my great great grandfather, Herbert Macaulay’s face
is on Nigerian currency;
his grandfather, Bishop Samuel Ajayi Crowther’s life
has been covered in documentaries.
and then there’s me–
akata-loving girl with an African-American studies degree,
stranger to my parents’ homeland
and i am hated in this country.
2.
i am hated in this country.
not too long ago, some whites
used to lynch niggas at night,
leave mutilated statues of souls that used to be
full vessels of hope
emptied
for the hot sun and maggots to eat
until their families cut them down from trees,
trying to revive them
with saltwater tears.
but tears have never been rain.
today, some whites
kill niggas in daylight,
leave mutilated statues of souls that used to be
full vessels of hope
emptied
until the community calls out overzealous police,
trying to revive them
with justice.
but justice has never been rain,
so we get devoured
every 28 hours.
3.
every 28 hours,
i or someone i love could die,
but fear overtakes you
when i pass you at night?
i wish you knew how afraid i was of you–
we are marionettes whose strings are pulled
by unpredictable Geppetos
who with one false accusation,
one New Year’s Eve at Fruitvale Station,
one wallet mistaken for a gun,
one day at the playground trying to have fun,
one bachelor party before my wedding day,
one hoodie to protect my head from the rain,
one jaywalk in the middle of the street,
one individual cigarette sold cuz Newports ain’t cheap,
one nap on the couch as the SWAT Team busts in,
one hip-hop song played loud as i hang with my friends,
one knock on the wrong door for help,
one afternoon at Walmart holding merchandise they sell,
could turn my family’s life
into a living hell.
Gepetto, when you wore a white hood instead of blue,
i recognized you.
Gepetto, i wouldn’t be so scared
if you saw me too.
Gepetto, why don’t i matter to you?
4.
why don’t i matter to you?
black lives matter
when we rob, rap and rape.
the only time you see me is when
i make you money or take food off your plate.
i can’t breathe–
i’m in an illegal chokehold.
i can’t breathe–
blackness is incongruous with hope.
i can’t breathe
cuz he was handcuffed when you shot him in the back.
i can’t breathe
cuz our justice system is out of whack.
i can’t breathe
because so many no longer do,
i can’t breathe
because no Declaration holds me in its truths.
wake me when i matter to you.
5.
but then again,
who cares if I matter to you?
i’m a proud black woman and i won’t go away,
Nigeria and America simultaneously
run through my veins,
i am black–
i matter.
they were black–
they mattered,
we are matter,
protons, electrons and neutrons
by the name of Trayvon,
Amadou, Renisha, Sean;
Oscar, Jordan, Michael, John;
Tamir, Ezell, Kajeime, Yvette;
Eric, Aiyana, the list ain’t done yet…
their names live on because
we are immortal,
we are black;
we are priceless,
we are black;
we are resilient,
we are black;
we are beautiful,
we are black.
we are black.
we are black.
we are black.
and we matter!
White Noise
on a sunny spring afternoon
during my freshman year of college,
i found my voice.
not the voice of assertion or anger,
but the true revolutionary in me.
it was as if
someone dropped a piece of burning coal
inside my arteries
which steamed my soul,
sizzled in my mind
and simmered on the tip of my tongue.
the flame was sparked
by racism.
and i spoke!
little old me who was used to letting things slide
opened up her mouth with eloquence
and spoke with pride as i openly identified
the ignorant sin committed against me and others.
i was so excited that i told my lover,
sharing every detail about the incident.
i reenacted my response and waited for him
to affirm what i had expressed
but instead, he said
“Baby, the world ain’t that serious. Who cares about all that?”
my strong black coffee self
turned into decaf,
i was diet store-brand cola with melted ice,
a deflated balloon.
he turned and kissed me
and said, “Forget about all this silliness and focus on now.”
and when he pulled my pants down,
my whole psyche dwindled to the ground.
my victory now felt like personal defeat
and i realized that i had made a fool of me
by attempting to connect with one
whose consciousness flowed
on a different frequency.
our love was static and instead of changing the station,
i got used to the white noise,
kept quiet each time i was ignored,
beat down the fighter i wanted to be
all for the sake of him loving me.
thank God i’m free.
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