VETERAN'S DAY

Today is Veterans Day in the USA. I do not celebrate it. I honor those who over the years have put their lives on the line, most often in service to greed and not freedom. They died in our names. They serve on our behalf, sometimes out of sheer need to survive. I appreciate the complexity of choices in our country where 1% of the population--generally from poor to working class social strata--bear the burden of hell that is war. They are wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities. And we owe each of them, especially the ones so damaged they never quite re-humanize. Every fallen military person takes to their grave a piece of the nation's soul. We owe them and their families. I do not celebrate on this day. I vow to continue to work for peace and justice so that our commemorating will not be in vain.

© Valerie Bridgeman
November 11, 2013

OLD WOMAN

The older I get the less I am willing to pretend as if things are "alright." I've taken to raging against the world. I didn't imagine that I would be the old woman to lay down easy. And my imagination is proving true.

© Valerie Bridgeman
November 11, 2013

RENISHA McBRIDE #2

He shot you in the face
because he was afraid
at 2 am of a 19-year-old
with no "juice" on her
cell phone, hurt from
a car accident, stumbling
to what she thought was
safety. I have no other
words except to repeat
it, what happened to you
Renisha. I can only tell
this story to manage
the terror, the rage,
the sorrow. I pray
for everyone who 
knew you. And now,
we have all been
reminded that accident
in the suburbs + black
+ white man with a gun
= (always) =
dead black bodies
grieving families
and answers
no one wants
to hear.

© Valerie Bridgeman

November 11, 2013

ON PREACHING

I'm told I make it look easy
that I stand flat-footed and
talk it down, the Spirit that is.
That I know how to conjure
the Voice of God in a room.
Let me tell you: it's not easy.
And still I keep trying.
I keep coming with that thing.

© Valerie Bridgeman

November 10, 2013

RENISHA MCBRIDE

I've run out of words for the rage

of it all--dead bodies strewn 

in the street and on porch steps.

We don't know why whoever

(the police won't tell us who, Renisha)

shot you in the back of your head.

Shot you. In the back of your head.

When you went for help

Help. You were already afraid

and I imagine you couldn't have

imagined that you'd get shot for

crying, "Help!" I'm crying as

I think of you, shocked by

the cruel irony of it all--

trying to save your life,

bleeding out on a porch

from a shot to the back of

your head, which--I mean--

does that mean you had

given up and was ready

to try someone else, to seek

help from another neighbor.

We can't know because 

your cell phone was dead

before you were and 

there are no texts even

telling us what happened

to you. The police

are protecting the person

who shot you because,

well, they're right this time.

We might very well

riot and rage in the streets.

Tired as we are of writhing

in the dust of our grief,

what else could we do?

Renisha, I hope death

was merciful and quick.

I hope you didn't have to 

ask yourself the questions

we are asking, like,

really? who shoots a

woman in the back of the head

for daring to come up on their

porch and ask for help???

© Valerie Bridgeman

November 9, 2013

THE TALK

We've all had it: 
the talk
the conversation
the sit-down-look-you-in-the-eye
I've got things to tell you
Melissa, I applaud you
for that very public
confession. It's not easy
to admit we've been
seduced by privilege
that the smell of new
car leather, a gentle
red wine, and money
in the bank can make
us believe we're
safe, a different kind
of black. It takes
some kind of ovaries
to admit that having
a white parent
makes us forget
that the world does
not see us as the
product of love
but just--a different
shade of black.
And then there is that:
the black side of 
the conversation
where we are forced
to look ourselves
square in the face and
say what the "average"
American does about us,
to own that no matter
how much power
we have, we are not
powerful enough.
But that's the talk
we all have to have
if we're going to
do more than survive
our lot. Starting
with truth is the
first sign of thriving.

© Valerie Bridgeman
November 8, 2013

RECIPROCITY

Not sure I know what it means
but I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean
that you get what you want and need
and the other person gets what they
want to give IF they want to give
it on any given day. Daughter,
you deserve better than crumbs
from emotionally unavailable
people who use you. I really
just wanted you to know: YOU
deserve better. You ARE
better. You are.

© Valerie Bridgeman
November 7, 2013