“You have no business being there. Don’t you know what they’ve done to us?”
In the 1880s, a Black Baptist and a Reform Jewish family lived in the town of Tyler, Texas.
“Dada, what does that sign say?” Her dark arm pointed to a Black Lives Matter poster in a nearby yard.
Sorry, our pod is full. Technically it’s because there’s no space for your judgement.
My children will be heard. Our family created a space that hears them, sees them, and lifts them up.
I suggest you cover your smug face with a mask ’cause your privilege shows, and it’s not a good look.
Sitting on a toilet, listening in on a zoom meeting, I muted the call while my two year old son fought me to play with the tampon I was trying to use.
I take a deep breath in pausing for the moment to admire how clean Barbie’s dream house is.
Walking to the end of the driveway, to get the Sunday Post, I would read “Hands Across America Cancelled.”
The cancellation of a party was the first moment of relief.