Poetry

Floetry: The Least

Posted on by April Hathcock

It was literally the least they could do.

The very least human dignity should be able to expect.

I told a friend yesterday that I was “overjoyed” for the family and friends and loved ones, but that was a lie. I was trying to muster up some elation, even just some relief. This is good news, right? I should feel that, right?

But I don’t. Because it was literally the least they could do.

Auntie Zora says if we’re silent about our pain, they’ll kill us and say we enjoyed it.

That’s how they get us, you see, tossing out picked-over scraps from the bountiful table they call “justice” and then expect us to shuck and jive in joy over what we’ve been found worthy to receive.

They’ll even beat us dancing: “Look! What a relief! Let us celebrate together in unity!”

Translation: “I abetted your destruction. I’m not sorry. But whew, I did the bare minimum to stay ahead of the game as always.”

For them, I will not celebrate. I will not absolve. I will not find relief.

For us, I will take this small moment of victory. Find grateful joy. Recharge to fight another day.

After all, that’s how the ancestors got us this far. That’s how we’ll get our descendants to where they are/will be.

It was the least they could do. But we’ll see to it they do more.

Dedicated to Brother George Floyd, his loved ones, and all of our own who have lived, loved, and murdered.

Floetry: Ode to the Ancestors

Posted on by April Hathcock

It’s exhausting 
Mr. Du Bois, that double consciousness wears me thin
I’se tired
Ms. Rushin, my bridge is broken down, sagging, ain’t taking nobody else nowhere 
I gotta take off this mask
Mr. Dunbar, it itches my face and gives me a rash
I’m hungry, starving
Ms. Simone, but all they offer me is the trauma of that strange fruit
My voice is hoarse and I don’t wanna sing no more
Ms. Angelou, I just wanna break out my cage and fly
But I’ll be alright
Ms. Clifton, we’ll celebrate this life I have shaped
I’ll be okay
Mr. Hughes, that dream deferred is still a dream comin
I thrive
Ancestors, because your legacy is my strength

Floetry: Only One

Posted on by April Hathcock

Do you know what it’s like to be often the Only One?

If not, then consider yourself privileged.

You don’t constantly find yourself walking into a room and noticing people noticing you, wondering why you’re there and if you belong. You don’t what it’s like to look around and realize that you’re the only _______ in the room. That sinking stomach feeling of being exposed as a token _______, representative of all _______s in the world.

You don’t know the feeling of anger and hurt and fatigue when you hear people making jokes or comments about _______s and you realize they don’t even know or care that you are a _______ person and you are there listening to them.

Or if they do look up and notice you standing there, you don’t know the feeling of anger and hurt and fatigue when they turn to you and say, “Oh, but not you. We don’t consider you to be a _______ person. You’re not like the other _______s.”

Or maybe the room is filled with more “progressive, liberal-minded” folk and they’re talking about issues affecting _______s, full of their own authority and knowledge and big-heartedness. And randomly someone turns to you and says, “Hey, you’re _______! What do you think? How do you feel? Bare a bit of your soul, willya?”

They mean well and you know they mean well, but your _______ soul is tired and you just can’t deal.

Even when you do call them out on their wrong-headedness, so full of kindness and sweet notes and milk-and-honey to avoid hurt feelings, you are met with tears and defensiveness and anger. “My best friend is _______! How dare you correct me!” You look around for support, but rarely do you find it. And why would you? You’re the Only One.

You want to be able to retreat to a land of other _______s and compare notes and resentments and shed tears, but you can’t. You’re the Only One.

It can be a lonely feeling. Being _______ in a world of non-_______s, of anti-_______-ness.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then you are well and truly privileged. May you never know what it’s like to be the Only One.

Floetry: Them

Posted on by April Hathcock

“They weaponize their niceness,”

I sit across from this beautiful Black sister

And know she ain’t said nothing but a word

Less than 3 hours later

My beautiful Latina sister says the same

Maybe not the same words

But it’s the same

They weaponize their niceness

They cry their tears

Wail about their good intentions

Bemoan our “bitchiness”

Decry our “divisiveness”

All while spitting on our truth

Stomping across that bridge called our backs

They spew their false claims of sisterhood

Believing even their own best lies

Ol’ boy said it best:

“Y’all helped right along with the heist;

Ya just didn’t like your cut”

And yet they are my allies

My comrades

My friends

I should be grateful

Or so they say

They weaponize their niceness

And I’m tired of getting shot

Dedicated with much love and respect to M.S., D.M., A.M.H.², and all the other WOC sitting in the crosshairs.

Floetry: Be still 

Posted on by April Hathcock

Sitting quietly and still until the dust settles

Until the roaring and thundering fades

Peering into the gentle waves, I can see the bottom so clearly

Straining my ears to the sudden quiet, I hear the whisper of the still, small voice 

And imagine:

All that dust, all that noise 

Comes directly from me;

I stir up the tempest with my fears, anxieties

With my desperate attempts to scratch my way to truth beneath the surface 

With my desperate attempts to scream my way to a perfectly pitched calling

It is I who obscures 

When all You ask is that I be still 

And know You 

Floetry: I love walking through graveyards 

Posted on by April Hathcock


I love walking through graveyardsThe dead don’t say much

Don’t get me wrong 

I didn’t say they don’t say anything

I said they don’t say much

They understand the value of silence 

Of time

They’re in no hurry to explain accuse exculpate 

There are no arguments debates soliloquies 

Just quiet

And the occasional whisper 

A reminder to honor the dead

And the living

And time

Floetry: That was a good book

Posted on by April Hathcock

I’ve recently gotten back into my poetry writing. So I’ll be dropping some lines in here for you all from time to time as the Spirit moves. 

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“That was a good book”

I read that book and now I just wanna eat it

Cram it in my mouth and chew sop it up with a biscuit

Roast it on an open spit drizzle it in gravy plough right through

Rip it apart page by page at the spine and suck the marrow dry

Take the binding soak it in broth get a good stew going

That book was so good I wanna dice it up fine slice mince sprinkle it on some chips serve it with carrot sticks

I devoured it with my eyes my mind but that’s not enough it was a really good book 

Open my center pour it in I wanna start it all over again