One in Four, One in a Thousand
*in 2020, one in four black women experienced attempted or completed rape while one in every thousand black men were assaulted by police.*
The moon was a spotlight in a blackened sky,
A late night at the office,
a crisp wind blew my jacket
just past my fingers as I grasped it close.
Smooth metal cool between the digits,
like knives.
Like knives,
the blue and red lights pierce my eyes
My earthy hands raise on instinct
I advert my gaze as he steps out.
Egyptian blue uniform, glassy pistol
with a brown face in the reflection
I see my brown face in the reflection of his gun,
His porcelain grip marks my arm, purple and dark,
a reminder of who I belonged to.
Hey chocolate princess, you workin’ those jeans
Yellow teeth pulled in a crooked smile
The only light in a darkened street.
The only light in the dark street
was the eggshell headlights of a 7 Toyota Corolla.
as it crept closer then rolled away
Bricks on my spine, vermillion blood stains
the concrete, hands pinned behind my back
Like a slave
Stop resisting or I swear to God I’ll shoot
Stop resisting or I swear to God I’ll shoot
My cloudy crown mats against my scalp as
icy sweat slides down my face like beads.
His shadow lurks in my peripheral so faint
I question my sanity
My shoulders kiss the tips of my ears
Enamel raw.
My enamel is raw when he finally pulls me up
like a disobedient dog —
You’re free to go, he chuckles under his breath.
I bare my teeth,
invisible foam bubbles from my sangria gums.
The second is cautious,
hides in the flickering lights of lined lamp posts.
The third is bolder,
ivory face brilliant in unmarked Chryslers.
Four and five: harmless on paper,
a whistle here, a wandering eye, an unrequested wink.
Six fires his gun twice —
grazes past my ribcage,
though my heart stops anyway.
You can lead a horse to water,
But you cannot force it to drink.
Pushing pleas like uphill boulders on ears
that refuse to understand
Not all men is like firing a stray bullet in a crowd,
striking one in the back,
and with a laugh
hoping for a better shot next time.
Not all officers is like watching your brother
lead the drunk blond girl up the stairs like an
anesthetized puppy
and applauding as one does.
About the Creator
SaMya Overall
Fiction, poetry, and creative non-fiction writer with a love for cliche tropes reimagined in a new way.
For more works: https://www.minialternaterealities.com
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