the story that stays

(on witness and refuge)

If a story were wandering, looking for a stranger that would give her warm clothing, ask her to take a seat, and then give her a warm cup of tea, would you honor her journey in this way? Do you know how to be present with your own hunger to recognize the hunger in another?

Perhaps this story has not known love for a while, it has been centuries. This story reeks, has a stench on her that a child would loudly declare that she carries the scent of someone who has not been met with tenderness. Would you try to be pretend, or would you ask her, "what do you need?" This story has such a warm smile, and you see that some of her teeth are missing.

It is clear that this story has not been loved lately. She has known love before. She has known love before. She has known love before. Now, this story knows shame by her first name and shame is a thief, does not nurture her or shine light upon her.

Shame has left this story so emaciated that you can see her bones. This story no longer hides anything, hiding takes energy. This story is, and is, and is, and is. Her isness makes the witness blush. The witness turns away.

The witness is a tornado of distraction, looking for anything to hold her attention long enough for the story to feel her own solitude. Perhaps if the story were alone for long enough then the story would collect her bones and depart.

This story is and does not move. The story came because she heard there was a place for her here, an invitation had been made:

"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free"

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Support my debut book UNRULY, Legacy Book Press, LLC 2025

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Light, peace, and progression for the spirit of Aiby Galindez. May he have a beautiful rebirth.

Light, peace, and progression to all our ancestors who lived in Black bodies. May they have a beautiful rebirth.

Light, peace, and progression to the spirits of everybody Black still in their bodies. May we catch the fire, and live live live live live.

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