By Domonique Savoy
I speak.
But my words are too heavy to
break the surface.
I reach for my friends,
but they’re out of reach
and out of touch.
I fight,
but the tide turns against me,
and my resistance is met by an
invisible,
unbridled hand.
I think,
but my thoughts dissolve into the blackness,
scattered in the dark matter
where all things
seemingly cease to matter.
The paradox of being everywhere,
but not visible,
is mirrored back at me,
as I watch a distorted reflection of
me
disappear into the deep.
I sink,
while my friends are on the
surface,
screaming “black lives matter!”
I open my mouth,
to scream
But water rushes it first.
I close my mouth,
and with the stillness of my voice,
a hollow echo permeates the
water,
and I can no longer trace the
sound
back to its origin.
I wonder.
Are they still calling out for me?
Do they really want to see me
be free?
Or do they just want to be heard
calling my name,
and be the ones voicing my pain?
