for sickness, for health

by Alanna Grace-Marie

i realize now that 

i enjoy being ill, 

i always have. 

once in a while,

for a short period of time,

you curate herbal brews for me to consume,

the heat in my throat defeats discomfort.

their healing sensations bless my soul,

for sickness, for health

my temperature lowers by damp fabric on my skin.

i bury myself under the shelter of blankets

and feel like a child again, so warm.

for sickness, for health

cayenne pepper ignites my immune system,

in the blended veggies you deliver to me.

awakening my heart and mind,

for sickness, for health

these unfamiliar layers of warmness make me crave 

deeply; a cold, a fever, an ache. 

so in time, my body will receive 

her necessary and adequate rest.

as the eldest daughter,

this love provided to me is all new due to

malefic, deliberate parental desertion 

and threadbare bootstrap ancestors. 

this pure love is like fresh, soft rain

to my worn soul and weary flesh. 

i want to thank you,

for showing me the care i never received. 

for sickness, and for health

Black lungs, angry hands

by Alanna Grace-Marie

i was at home

just listening  

to a live lecture.

i started to

zone out

in my online class, 

this DEI course became rather boring

after a while, because trust me,

i know all about intersectionality already.

in this society, 

my identity, as a 

poor, Black, biracial, queer woman,

is an acidic cocktail of oppression. 

…suddenly,

my thought was beckoned by

a case example that was provided

about environmental racism.

my professor began to speak

about the statistics of 

health defects recorded from… 

some place nearby;

yet far enough away from us…

us students assumed safe 

from this ongoing disaster.

but... not me. 

to me, 

this smog poisoned place 

is a familiar place;

my home,

where i come from,

where i was raised,

where i was born.

…her observations impaled my ears.

over and over again...

this damage was inflicted from behind 

the black mirror, but so fast, it choked me. 

snuck into my cranium and forced itself, 

down my throat and into my chest, 

then embittered itself into my soul. 

… suddenly,

anger traveled into my fingers and implored them to

orchestrate my grief among the keys,

to force everyone to acknowledge my pain

from my point of view, a poor victim. 

the reality of this case study

wasn't so far away for me.

the pain did not simply fade away…

rapidly, without a trigger warning,

wrath antagonized my soul

so deep, so tight, and so cruel.

… suddenly, i froze. 

i couldn’t translate my anguish into the chat…

my entire being was drained, so quickly 

of the nourishment necessary 

to deliver light to my newly senseless shell.

the smog from home paid me 

an unwelcome visit, and i 

felt my lungs shrink up again,

Blackened, like white flight’s result

on my community as well. 

soon enough, haste was halted by my reasonable mind.

i ceased the despair and established resistance,  

because i soon realized my words would mean 

absolutely nothing to them, my peers.  

to realize my disadvantage 

and have it displayed in this way…

it was the ultimate reveal of the painful reality 

that my identity is so deeply rooted in.

after my melancholy epiphany, 

the numbness remained, and inside,

my lungs exhaled the “fresher” air 

of my new location, near campus…

40 mins away from the location of the case study. 

and now, i just felt impassive. 

i couldn’t fully digest what just happened to me.

all i could think of was little me; 

she coughs harshly then 

smiles proudly up at me... 

on this random day, within minutes, 

i was forced to acknowledge

the prime example of poverty that I am.

prime enough to be showcased as an example 

at this prestigious university in a class,

dedicated to diversity, equity, and inclusion…

i genuinely felt included that day. maybe too much.