Thank You, Staceyann Chin

Staceyann, you give my throat the words and moans and screams and wants that sometimes lay stuck             behind my tongue.

I need to be held.
I need to hold.

Me, this single womxn who lives alone and has not held another soul since I hugged my Mama goodbye on March 14th, marches here, in Los Angeles,

matching Power fist to Power fist, in solidarity;

“I see you, My Sister, My Brother;”

blowing kisses to my Goddaughters, and weeps dry tears as Mr. Floyd’s writhing fight for breath floats by my mind’s eye every 13 or so hours, or minutes.


I am exhausted, too; I am psychically spent within every cell of my Black body.
My muscles and my tendons cry out as I march with my fellow

world-changers,

and I lovingly whisper back to them, “Keep going. Keep going.”


Keep going. Thank you.