in their destructive fires, they may burn our bodies, but no our spirits... fire destroy, but then feed the soil from which things grow. not only will we be destroyed. they will destroy themselves in their own fires... but our spirits will go up blazing into free spaces. after all the past and continuing trials we suffer through, we fight in music and dance to break away. we sing through fire. we dance.
white sheets. black woman. burning bodies.
strange fruit. billy holiday.
she becomes free as she burns in the fire.
i want to have a happier memory for all those who lost their bodies brutally in the fight. i want them to remembered for more than a picture of a bloated body floating down a river, or for choked throats swinging. i want to remember them for so much more than that. they gave me a larger plate of existence. i want to remember them in the freedom they created. not in their moment of death. death is crazy beautiful, ugly beautiful, strange beautiful, nonsensically beautiful.
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