That garbage bag in the post office, worn by a woman on Fifth Avenue in New York City

That garbage bag in the post office, worn by a woman on Fifth Avenue in New York City. The industrial strength kind that people who deal in garbage prefer and she wore it- it was her clothes. The way it slipped off her shoulder she had nothing on underneath. Her clavicle such a bone. Some bone so fragile and strong. Something you don’t see unless the meat has been stripped, unless you’re so starved, the mask falls away, and there, the biology of us all. Her dark brown skin over the bone in her arms, her wrists hinging back and forth, discomfort entered our eyes. I could not leave her every move, slow, deliberate. Air chilled with early winter, we pedestrians turned our collars up, tightened scarves around our necks, our hands stuffed into our pockets- we would not give even if asked.  She laid down in a puddle of sun. I was sad for both of us. I don’t know what to do with a black woman in a black bag and so I cried.

from loving you is complicated by arisa white

3 responses to “That garbage bag in the post office, worn by a woman on Fifth Avenue in New York City

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s