The Weight
by Christina Morton
--
Wake, wash, dress
Grab bag, then pack
Laptop, books, pens
Then anxiety, then fear, and depression
I carry it all
Feel the weight of it digging into shoulders
Straining neck
Tightening lower back
But I carry it nonetheless
“Keep moving,” I say, “just keep moving”
“If you don’t stop, they won’t catch you”
“Can’t hurt you”
“No time to rest”
“Just keep going and maybe one day you’ll be free, free, free…”
Was this the prayer my forbears prayed?
As cotton bolls burrowed beneath fingernails
And the lash scored sweating backs bent in the unrelenting sun
When nursing babes were torn from mother’s breast before milk cooled on their lips
And auction blocks fractured fraught families
I wonder…
Did they dream of death too?
Imagined angels sweeping them away in the dead of night
Unbeknownst to an exacting master
And flying high
High above the suffering, the pain
If slavery is such a distant past, why am I still trying to recover?
But, I am a descendant of survivors
A people who had the audacity to live
A precious inheritance they gave me
This life
To live is resistance
A daily act of defiance
Yet, let’s not forget those who had the courage to die
To swallow death, rather than drink the bitter cup of bondage
“They mean to kill you, child” they whisper
“But you can’t die here”
“Not now…not like this”
“You are a survivor too”
So, I keep moving
Carrying the weight
You want to know what’s on my mind as I walk?
Hope
Hoping I don’t disappoint those who came before me
Hoping I don’t forget who I am here
Hoping my father takes his medicine
Hoping my baby sister remembers the sound of my laugh
Hoping I pass this test
Hoping I don’t fall short of perfection
Hoping I don’t drown in others’ expectations
Hoping I don’t let the exhaustion show
Hoping I leave here still standing
Hoping, hoping, hoping…
I can’t afford to stop hoping
The cost unspeakable
Unthinkable
Unbearable
There are days when all I have is this hope
Without it, I worry I may fall apart
You want to know if I am broken?
The answer is, I should be…
But, no…
I am but one in a lineage of people who were broken by design
In body, in mind, and some in spirit
Intentionally unmade
Ill-used and despised because of the skin their souls occupied
Perhaps you can relate
My indigenous brothers and sisters
My Latinx hermanos y hermanas
Yes, they meant to break us
But with time, we took the bits and pieces left
And repurposed them
Refashioned ourselves in the image of God
Relearned how to be whole
And dared to say, “we are beautiful”
Because of them, I know I don’t walk these halls alone
I shoulder this weight, but not by myself
I am but one in a lineage of people who chose to live
In spite of the oppression
In spite of the hate
In spite of the lies they told us
“Unfit, unqualified, undeserving…”
In spite of it all, they kept moving toward freedom
And so will I
Maybe one day, I can release my burden
I want to, for them
For me
For my children
Today I carry it
But, I still hope for tomorrow
Will you hope with me?
We need each other if we’re going to make it to freedom
