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Ferguson could be my Home


I want to live in Ferguson, Missouri. To know what it’s like to have confidence that the police will protect me from my neighbors, killing them if necessary should they seek to do me harm. To know that my neighbors will protect me from the police, standing at my side to face down the guns and tear gas. I want to feel safe, connected, and at home among my peers.

But I can’t now. Here it’s different. I trust only the rain to fall, and my stomach to growl when I need food. And my heart to ache from sorrow. My mind to go numb, as necessary when survival demands it.

From here, I can see you all out there– more clearly.

You are so far away and indistinct. I assume you can hear me because when I yell, I sense sudden movement. Movement similar to mine when I am startled, or alarmed. Excited or aroused. And because I can hear your yells. Are you responding to me? I think so, but it’s hard to know for sure. This work is… exhausting me.

Where did you go? Are you running out of fear? Making attack plans in secret? I expect to see you there again soon.

Such sweet satisfaction, to go to bed with a full belly for one more night. To look up at the stars and see that they haven’t changed. To dream of Ferguson, Missouri, a better place where someday I might live if I’m lucky. And if I play my cards right.

 

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