George Floyd shouted "Momma" as he was being murdered, the same day as my son’s 11th birthday.
Regretfully, I watched the clip of George Floyd being murdered; it rattled me to my core. I didn’t need to watch a black man being murdered to know black people are being murdered in America through the force of endemic hate. But I did watch it, I think, because I had been away so long. I grew up in L.A. but have lived in various cities in the UK and the Middle East for over 20 years. I had somehow distanced myself from the “special” kind of racism in America, though not from racism in other countries. I was reminded that nothing had changed stateside as news had been reaching me more frequently and a lot quicker with the rise of social media.
I was pierced when George Floyd yelled out, "Momma!" in the clip. There, I saw a black boy in distress. It was a visceral flicking of my maternal switch. I wished I could do something nurturing to soften the moment for him. To take away the fear. To stop the murder. But that was something none of us could do. This piece is about that moment.
When I heard the toneThe alarm in his voiceI wanted to hold the boy who called outMommaI wanted to tell him"Son, I’m here."I wanted to tell him"It’ll be alright."because I couldn’t have told him"Son, you're about to die."
Reading the opening and listening to your voice read the poem brought tears to my eyes. This is beautiful Shondra!!!
I hear you Shondra. I see you. Peace and love.