"ab na floresta" by Márcia Tannure
To Sense or Not: Living Black by Regina YC Garcia
When I close my eyes
I miss the pain
The derisive stares of the ignorant and afraid, their palpable rage, their schemes of
power and pronouncements of piety, foul as rotting teeth, beastly souls, reaching to
devour me whole
When I close my eyes
I miss the beauty
The bright eyes and manifestations of my children, my legacies in flesh, moving in the
wide world,
Watching them shift their environments
Watching them remake flawed systems
When I cover my ears
I miss what I am called
Not the right one
Not the young one
Too Black
Not Black
Lacking the necessary requirements
Too late
To be
Considered
What can she do?
I miss the whispers and laughs
When I cover my ears
I miss the sounds of living
The tinkling of the baby coos
The uproar and exclamations of victory
My chance
Fatal sounds
I miss the footfalls of enemies
The breaking of the doors
The direction from which the spray emerges
I was too late to throw my body over the baby...
When I close my mouth
I block any unnecessary sugars and fats and words that would escape that would rip
hearts apart
Or cause me to lose my fortune.
I save myself. I save others.
Whatever that means
When I close my mouth
I block nourishment needed for life and fight
Words that could've screamed
Watch out!
Don't shoot!
I'm here!
I see.
I care.
I will lie with you.
Don't die.
Don't die.
When I pinch my nose
I save myself
From the foul odor of breath and lies
The smell of approaching doom
Putrid
Exuding the aroma of burning flesh
I won't gag, worry, or be afraid
A quick end, surely
I won't linger
I can just
Go on
Make sure they play I Feel Like Going On
When I pinch my nose
I save myself
From sounding the alarm
Never having inhaled or known the smokiness of the entry
They grab first my babies, though
Who have, under my cover, never known the danger of smoke and fire
They dangle them in front of me, taunting, no reprieve...
I could have just inhaled and breathed and girded and fought or escaped
Goliath stone and holy water, too late
When I still my hands and press them tightly to my sides, plant my feet firmly in my
space, I can keep myself
from harming the innocents.
I can mitigate the damage that the world exacts by not adding to it, statue solid
I can wait for the professionals.
I can turn my cheek and maintain the spirit of the doctrine poured into me from the
second floor, Educational Building, Sunday School, Railroad Street
When I still my hands and press them tightly to my sides, plant my feet firmly in my
space I can watch the enemy descend
I can say that I did not physically prevent or retaliate
I can watch my people wallow, bloodied in cars, on streets, on corners, on their sofas, in
garages, driveways, porches, and I can keep my clothes clean
Yet my mind is even dirtier than what it was prophesied to be
And the God I know, even in divine infinite love, reminds me daily of growing disdain
Mine and God's
You are not safe
whispers Heaven
Open me, God
Open me
I miss the pain
The derisive stares of the ignorant and afraid, their palpable rage, their schemes of
power and pronouncements of piety, foul as rotting teeth, beastly souls, reaching to
devour me whole
When I close my eyes
I miss the beauty
The bright eyes and manifestations of my children, my legacies in flesh, moving in the
wide world,
Watching them shift their environments
Watching them remake flawed systems
When I cover my ears
I miss what I am called
Not the right one
Not the young one
Too Black
Not Black
Lacking the necessary requirements
Too late
To be
Considered
What can she do?
I miss the whispers and laughs
When I cover my ears
I miss the sounds of living
The tinkling of the baby coos
The uproar and exclamations of victory
My chance
Fatal sounds
I miss the footfalls of enemies
The breaking of the doors
The direction from which the spray emerges
I was too late to throw my body over the baby...
When I close my mouth
I block any unnecessary sugars and fats and words that would escape that would rip
hearts apart
Or cause me to lose my fortune.
I save myself. I save others.
Whatever that means
When I close my mouth
I block nourishment needed for life and fight
Words that could've screamed
Watch out!
Don't shoot!
I'm here!
I see.
I care.
I will lie with you.
Don't die.
Don't die.
When I pinch my nose
I save myself
From the foul odor of breath and lies
The smell of approaching doom
Putrid
Exuding the aroma of burning flesh
I won't gag, worry, or be afraid
A quick end, surely
I won't linger
I can just
Go on
Make sure they play I Feel Like Going On
When I pinch my nose
I save myself
From sounding the alarm
Never having inhaled or known the smokiness of the entry
They grab first my babies, though
Who have, under my cover, never known the danger of smoke and fire
They dangle them in front of me, taunting, no reprieve...
I could have just inhaled and breathed and girded and fought or escaped
Goliath stone and holy water, too late
When I still my hands and press them tightly to my sides, plant my feet firmly in my
space, I can keep myself
from harming the innocents.
I can mitigate the damage that the world exacts by not adding to it, statue solid
I can wait for the professionals.
I can turn my cheek and maintain the spirit of the doctrine poured into me from the
second floor, Educational Building, Sunday School, Railroad Street
When I still my hands and press them tightly to my sides, plant my feet firmly in my
space I can watch the enemy descend
I can say that I did not physically prevent or retaliate
I can watch my people wallow, bloodied in cars, on streets, on corners, on their sofas, in
garages, driveways, porches, and I can keep my clothes clean
Yet my mind is even dirtier than what it was prophesied to be
And the God I know, even in divine infinite love, reminds me daily of growing disdain
Mine and God's
You are not safe
whispers Heaven
Open me, God
Open me
Regina YC Garcia is an American Poet and Voice Artist. An English Professor from Greenville, NC, she is also a professional speaker/presenter. Additionally, she is a DAR National Poetry Award Winner and a documentary poet with work featured in a 2020 Emmy Award Winning Episode of Muse (PBS).
Márcia Tannure is a visual artist, born in Belo Horizonte, MG, Brazil. She started her artistic practice when studying porcelain painting. Later, she studied observation and artistic design at INAP / MG. She graduated in Social Work from PUC-Minas with a postgraduate degree in art therapy from Projeto Terra / MG. Some years later she moved to Rio de Janeiro / RJ, where she studied Sculpture at the School of Fine Arts of UFRJ. At the visual arts school Parque Lage she studied contemporary art and exhibition design. She currently lives in Niterói / RJ, Brazil, where she develops research in fire arts and has great inspiration from nature. You can find her on instagram: @marciatannure
