Leader Girl


It’s not often Life feels remorse for his actions. 

(For what is there to feel remorse for?

There is no wrong or right in his dealings, there’s
only survival. Only the white knuckles from fighting
and ruddy dirt smeared hands from work.)

The revolution is no exception. 

Besides, there’s something about communism that 
harkens to the order of things. Spots and spaces
perfectly cut for their pieces. Cogs and roles to 
be filled. 

Hunter, prey. 

Leader, follower. 

Girl, ghost. 

And what a spectre she has become. Pale hands, 
wringing for rations. Blonde hair–– bleached for fear
of recognition, or perhaps shocked white from the
horrors she’s faced? 

He remembers the fire, the siege. Her dark little head.
How well she survived, then, in the night. How well she
survives, now, in the ration line. Call him proud, if you 

He leans over her shoulder, peering in the room of her
wool pocket. Extra bread. She knows how to live. He keeps
his voice hush, lets it breathe against the hair on her neck,
but he leaves it loud enough–– just to flirt with surrounding

“You have a feast in your pocket, душенька.”

                                   (He substitutes this comrade term. We are not friends.) 


Yesterday was BYP 100’s first ever National Day of Action for Black Women and Girls. ‪#‎BYP100‬ leaders shared their demands for greater accountability of police violence towards females, and family members of ‪#‎RekiaBoyd‬ spoke about her 2012 fatal shooting by an off-duty police officer. Read more about the Rekia Boyd trial, and what it says about the fight for ‪#‎police‬ accountability at http://chicagoreporter.com/in-rekia-boyd-case-family-faces-a-familiar-outcome/

Photos by Grace Donnelly/ The Chicago Reporter