Breonna’s Heaven

Someone asks,
“Did you expect
lots of white clouds
and harps—too?
Seems silly. This is so much
better—so much more—
more.”

“No—I did not hope
for white clouds
of unknowing.
But I did not have
much time
to expect.”

“How were you birthed
into eternity?”

“Shot.
Murdered.
My black body.
My female body.
In my home.
In America.”

“Good God. Who did this?”

“Some police officers.”

Softly, “Oh—So that is why
you are waiting.”

“Yes. Waiting, but home,”
she smiles streaks of lightning.
“And from my window
I see there are some
who have not forgotten
my name.”

So You Don’t Feel Alone

Walk with me—
and so you don’t feel alone
hear the steps of Sojourner Truth, fighting for freedom.

Walk with me—
and so you don’t feel alone
hear the steps of Harriet Jacobs, with wide room to roam.

Walk with me—
and so you don’t feel alone
hear the steps of Wyatt Outlaw, feet on the ground on the other side.

Walk with me—
and so you don’t feel alone
hear the steps of James Baldwin, marching in metered measure.

Walk with me—
and so you don’t feel alone
hear the steps of Audre Lorde, walking with pride.

Walk with me—
and so you don’t feel alone
hear the steps of Nina Simone, in syncopated brilliance.

Walk with me—
and so you don’t feel alone
hear the steps of Breonna Taylor, say justice will come.

Walk with me—
and so you don’t feel alone
hear my steps by your side.

Wyatt Outlaw—Feet on the Ground

Black constable
1800’s
Carolina
small town
white rioters ride.

Shots fired by the law—
the black law—
but there are no deaths.

The rioters, the Klan
offended and alive
come back,
the white
in the night.

Cast his mother
down,
push his children
aside.

Drag him out,
hang him up,
pin it down—
a sign on his brown
skin.

A word to
by passers
and church spires.

Strange fruit,
as the song says,"
to dangle there.

What happens
when he comes down
feet on the ground
and walks around—
you?

Those Who Comfort

Corrie ten Boom
not only wrote,
she lived
The Hiding Place.

Her father and sister died
in Nazi camps.
She was released
due to a “clerical error”
a week before all of the women
of her age were killed.

They were not Jewish;
they hid and helped Jews.

At the film premiere of her book
Nazi sympathizers
threw tear gas into the theatre;
it was rescheduled.

When Corrie did see the film
she was left in tears—
reliving the lives and deaths
of her family and friends.

Then a voice came,
speaking comfort,
singing comfort—
Ethel Waters:
“Baby, just cry...don’t mind
what people are thinking.
His eye is on the sparrow,
And I know He watches me...”

There are those who die,
those who live,
those who kill,
and those who comfort.

It is not too late
to sing.

Breonna Taylor

Hopeful—
How I remember
feeling
in my 20’s.

You didn’t get
to finish yours.

Your last moments:
door smashing
panic
noise
terror
shots
pain

I can’t
comprehend.

And when
you died

when you were murdered—

it was one pandemic
in the midst of another;

and I never
heard you scream.

Olivia Stogner is a poet, novelist, playwright, and English professor. She has a BA from Southern Wesleyan University and a MA in English from UNCG. She has published two novels: The Unfading and the Unbinding. She has upcoming publications in Writing for Peace-DoveTales, an International Journal of the Arts and The Rainbow Poems—Sonnets for Shakespeare Anthology. She is committed to fighting human trafficking and supporting Fair Trade companies and products. She is involved with a racial equity community group in Saxapahaw, NC: The Social Justice Exchange. She taught English in China, loves to travel, and loves books.