A Poem for Renisha McBride

July 29, 2014

Renisha McBride
Hopefully, you have been following the trial of Theodore Wafer, a Michigan man, who killed 19 year old Renisha McBride last fall when she came to his door in the early morning hours after a car accident begging for help. He shot and killed her through a locked door, because he claims he felt afraid. Local residents in Detroit, marched and rallied on Renisha’s behalf and ensured her killer was brought to trial. But there has been no national outrage of the sort we saw last year with Trayvon Martin and Jordan Davis. Wafer’s attorney has attempted to prove that Renisha was “up to no good,” citing alcohol and drug use. It simply remains unclear to me how drinking, smoking, and then needing help, constitute a crime worthy of being shot in the head and left to die on a random man’s porch. Renisha’s life meant something, and she deserved so much better than to be shot down on a cold Michigan morning, because she found herself in need of something we all will need eventually: help.
Between Gaza, Boko Haram, mass deportations, and the indiscriminate killing of Black folks by police, these are scary times in which we are living. We hope you are all taking care of yourselves, being gentle with yourselves and each other, seeking out and giving your energy to the things that matter.
In the immortal words of Tupac, Keep Ya Head Up.
Now, I want to share with you this poem, that I received after I did a recent appearance on HuffPost Live with Marc Lamont Hill to discuss Renisha’s trial.
Renisha McBride
by Sheree Renée Thomas
“We don’t see black women as women, so they don’t get the traditional protections of femininity…”—Dr. Brittney Cooper, aka Professor Crunk
They say Medusa
was once so beautiful
a goddess envied her
drove her from
her sisters’ side
and stole her grace
Was it her dark skin, the color
of sun-ripened flesh?
Was it her locs
that writhed and swung free
with their own breath?
Banished from her throne
to lie beneath another’s heel
time ravaged her birthright
so that her very name
intoned fear
a fear that echoed
through the ages
Medusa, Renisha
What kind of fear
flings open
a closed, locked door
and blasts the head off
a lone black woman?
What kind of fear
possesses
in the witching hours
before dawn?
What kind of fear
pulls one from sleep
and blinds both eyes
to the humanity
that lives within
all skin?
What kind of fear
finds it reasonable
and honest to leap
from lending a hand
to triggering the finger
that kills?
and still
Medusa belongs nowhere
Is there a space where she belongs?
Is there a corner of a dark cave
she is free to cling to?
Where may she find
empathy, peace?
Medusa
one of triple moons
the goddess of renewal
and strength
She is bereft of her sisters
and we her sisters
mourn her loss