She marches along with the rest
Cradling her belly
Swollen with child
Her chin tilts to the sky and she SHOUTS
Black Lives Matter!
She's more sad than angry; less angry than sad
She's homeless; the child within is not
She marches to make the World
For the Other
For her Own
For her Child
“What keeps a poor child in Appalachia poor is not what keeps a poor child in Chicago poor – even if from a distance, the outcomes look the same. And what keeps an able-bodied black woman poor is not what keeps a disabled white man poor, even if the outcomes look the same.”
― Ijeoma Oluo, So You Want to Talk About Race
The only thing that matters is that they are all poor. And if they do not join together to address that situation, they will all remain poor while those who benefit from their poverty will remain rich. This is the truth of racism and sexism and homophobia and xenophobia and religious bigotry. The shared goal of all these evils is to maintain separation between those that have and those that don’t. This is usually accomplished by convincing some percentage of those that don’t that they may one day be a member of the those that have group. They won’t. Ever. But they fall for it. That percentage happens to be 30%.
It is the intersections of the oppressed which will provide the strength to set things right.
Wikipedia, Jerry Rescue
On October 1, 1851, William Henry was arrested in Syracuse under the Fugitive Slave Law. Earlier in 1851, Secretary of State Daniel Webster had warned that the law would be enforced even “here in Syracuse in the midst of the next Anti-Slavery Convention.” The arrest was considered a message that the locally unpopular law would be seriously enforced by federal authorities.
– Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference
Who are you after you finish something this magnificent — in constructing it you have also journeyed through it, to the other side. On one end there was who you were before you went underground, and on the other end a new person steps out into the light. The up-top world must be so ordinary compared to the miracle beneath, the miracle you made with your sweat and blood. The secret triumph you keep in your heart.
From childhood’s hour I have not beenAs others were—I have not seenAs others saw—I could not bringMy passions from a common spring—From the same source I have not takenMy sorrow—I could not awakenMy heart to joy at the same tone—And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—Then—in my childhood—in the dawnOf a most stormy life—was drawnFrom ev’ry depth of good and illThe mystery which binds me still—From the torrent, or the fountain—From the red cliff of the mountain—From the sun that ’round me roll’dIn its autumn tint of gold—From the lightning in the skyAs it pass’d me flying by—From the thunder, and the storm—And the cloud that took the form(When the rest of Heaven was blue)Of a demon in my view—