When I say hold us in prayer I mean touch Black bodies as if they are children knowing pain for the first time With your hands I mean rescue What is a prayer if not a shield? What is touch if not food?
For 10 weeks, we will feature one poem per week from Surveillance, the new chapbook available now from Writ Large Press. These poems by Ashaki M. Jackson explore police killings of Blacks captured on video and the public’s consumption of these videos. Previous poems: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9