Perpetual Labor Pains of the Black Mother
Every time I see a media story of a black man or woman being accosted by the police, beaten, demeaned, and used to send a broader message of hatred, fear, and despair, my water breaks.
My labor pains intensify as I witness the senseless murders and racial degradations play out before the nation and the world.
When the political leaders attempt to empathize and relay stories written on their teleprompters with stony faces, and indifferent totally detached personal commentaries, my contractions begin.
I feel myself pushing, straining, bearing-down as I hug my husband and hold him close as he leaves for work or when I call my adult son to make sure he made it home safely after his weekly travels. Not to mention when my grandson calls me, to tell me about his eight-year old day.
I close my legs and refuse to allow the fruit of my womb to die on the vine of life. So here I am... legs crossed...trying to practice Lamaze breathing techniques while I stare at a television screen...which captures my attention as I hold my breath.
