I Remember Death by Its Proximity to What I Love by Mahogany L. Browne

Author:Mahogany L. Browne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Haymarket Books
Published: 2021-07-26T00:00:00+00:00

1I binge-watch the Australian television drama. After a several-week streaming stint I find myself crying, crying, crying for the world which held my father and uncles and brother and cousins like a fist.

2“Nation Induced-Disorder” was the original name of this poem until I realized it is a worldwide condition fueled by capitalism. This global epidemic is rampant in Thailand, Australia, Mexico, Honduras, Brazil, Papua New Guinea, Ukraine, and Belize.

3Of course, you want to know what my father must have done to be locked up all my life. How many drugs did he sell? How many bodies did he leave without breath? None. None, of course, dear reader. You cannot imagine a thief so spectacular, so magical in his sleight of hand, that he left the world without a trace. Or manslaughter? Or abuse? Or addiction? Of course. Of course. All of the above? Possibly a collage of victimless crimes? No, just the audacity to refuse a plea. Mercy.

4As I am writing this in a time in which poets accuse each other of noncommittal words (like “wonder”), if I may interject: this placement of the word simply acknowledges that that writer / narrator is still in search of an answer to the wonderment presented. But, lean in, friend, let me tell you what I know: the writer’s father has been gone, gone, gone, and so, she fears she will never truly understand or know. Yes, this moment of unknowing is her attempt to completely level the obstructed field of vision. It is ultimately an example of how the writer imagines her father, whole. And how the writer deconstructs the intention behind these daughter-sans-daddy-induced theories.

5Crime Report is a study available free of charge through a nonprofit program operating within the Center on Media Crime and Justice at John Jay College in New York. This networking resource served as a beacon when researching the archives of poet, warrior, and writer, Audre Lorde. Lorde, like me, taught at John Jay College and was a mother. Once, my own mother asked me why I was so angry. I was in my early twenties and explosive when speaking about my father. Lorde’s work gave me the compass to redirect my anger.

6these fractures. Study these fractures. These fractures have been repurposed. Intentional rage. Intentional in recognizing the loss of my father. Intentional in naming the taking of blood. This system is blood hungry. Read the reports. The data will consistently count his body, but never once will it take into account the shadows of his absence.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.