Gina Williams

EARNED RICHES

“The greatest riches in all America have arisen
from our blood and tears—and will they drive
us from our property and homes, which we
have earned with our blood?”  

— David Walker’s Appeal, 1829

I.

A body robbed of breath cannot sing—
cannot rise up, appeal, witness. A body
stilled in the street over a petty charge,
punished by public execution, white knee
of authority pressed into neck as a crowd
gathers, films, pleads for help. Eight
minutes, forty-six seconds—silence. 

II.

A body robbed of breath cannot run—
cannot flee fast enough, far enough to
defend itself against bullets, bombs, ropes,
drugs, dogs. A body, beautiful, black body
stilled in the street, hunted. A body robbed
of breath cannot delight in a simple jog—
escape into some kind of freedom, cool
evening breeze on the face, sweetness of
magnolia perfumed air, heart racing the
body toward a better day.

III.

A body robbed of breath cannot dance—
cannot hug a brother, turn the other cheek,
kiss a baby girl goodnight, plead for mercy,
cannot say “Forgive them for they know not
what they do.” A body destroyed cannot
whisper, “I love you & I love you, world” in
wonder at the burn of another sunrise—
comfort of a mother’s arms.

IV. 

A body robbed of breath cannot march—
cannot return fire, file charges. A body
robbed of breath cannot teach, preach a
better way to heaven. 

Gina Williams is a freelance journalist, gardener, former wildland firefighter, and visual artist. The author of An Unwavering Horizon, a full-length collection of poetry published in 2020 (Finishing Line Press), her writing and visual art have been featured most recently by Moss, River Teeth, FRAMES Magazine, J. Mane Gallery, Electric Lit, Carve, and The Sun, among others. She holds degrees in journalism and strategic communication from the University of Oregon. Gina lives and creates near Portland, Oregon with her best friend and fellow poet, husband Brad Garber.

Learn more about Gina and her work at https://ginamariewilliams.com/