Tags
civil rights, Jonathan Bachman, Love, peacful protest, photography, poem, poetry, police brutality, Tracy K. Smith
Unreast in Baton Rouge
after the photo by Jonathan Bachman
Our bodies run with ink dark blood.
Blood pools in the pavement’s seams.
Is it strange to say love is a language
Few practice, but all, or near all speak?
Even the men in black armor, the ones
Jangling handcuffs and keys, what else
Are they so buffered against, if not love’s blade
Sizing up the heart’s familiar meat?
We watch and grieve. We sleep, stir, eat.
Love: the heart sliced open, gutted, clean.
Love: naked almost in the everlasting street,
Skirt lifted by a different kind of breeze.
That’s a compelling photo and act on her part. Thanks for sharing the story Deborah. It’s a shame how militant our police have become. Your poem is very poignant and compelling too. A perfect compliment to the story.
I find both so inspiring. The photo showing such calm, dignified bravery in the face of injustice, and the poem by Traci Smith revealing the underlying act of love that does not exclude the men she faces. They do complement each other so well.
Agreed.
You and I remember the iconic photo (and events) back in the day…flower child woman facing a line of armed protest policemen…forever etched in my mind and heart…the cinemascape, the times, have not changed much…
Poignantly beautiful.
Yes, indeed. The arc is long but it bends toward justice. I have to believe what MLK wrote is true, even in these trying times.