you broke heart and
out I still light candles for
your safe journey to
the corner Pray your
flesh won’t be too brown
today Your beauty too offensive
shot for being A spic around a drunk cop
lynched for being nigger loud to klan ears
deported cause your name is Mohammad and somewhere
a bomb went off
drugged up and drunk cause you native to the
land and claim birthright
I feel for your life though no longer in it
wrap a rainbow serpent round you to keep
harm at arm’s length
I charm gods to keep you safe till revolution is over
no longer lay beside me and still keep me
up at night
is your skin still soft
not your fingers’ long strokes or tongue’s insistent
welcome keeping me up
the statistics political promises that you won’t live to see 30
how many incidents since we last kissed
don’t believe in this
world so I fight
so you’ll live to
love free who you want
I know that’s not
me so I don’t call
don’t write take you
space your love back
baby be safe in it . .
In the aftermath of Officer Gregory Neupert’s fatal shooting, four Blacks were killed by the New Orleans Police. They were: Raymond Ferdinand, Reginald Miles, Sherry Singleton, and James Billy, Jr.
Ward’s Jamaican roots and home in Harlem have been recurring themes in his numerous installations. He speaks with Jaffe about three key works.
It’s pretty exciting when a filmmaker’s work takes a giant leap—way beyond anything he’s done before—and just blows you away with its strength, horror, and sorrowful beauty.
Originally published in
Featuring interviews with Tim Roth, Amy Hempel, Emmylou Harris, Matthew Ritchie, Wallace Shawn, Christian Wolff, Gilles Peress, Kendall Thomas, and George Walker.
How do I build a fugitive choreography, one that’s always in the process of escaping itself, then coming back to reaffirm itself, only to slide away again? The act of interpreting a choreography is made live by the performers, which is the invitation in my work.
Ligia Lewis
