Prayers for Bed-Stuy

Brooklyn cops shot

The shooter ran into the Subway platform where I have stood a hundred times, waiting for a train, to take me into Manhattan to chase my dream. I know it’s smell and it’s sounds. I’ve talked to scores of other New Yorkers while I waiting for the G train. I’ve danced on that platform and sung loudly if I ever found myself waiting for the G alone. Everybody always likes to make fun of the G train. It’s my train.

The killings took place on my street, a hundred yards from my front door. Myrtle is the street that was mine before my return to Alabama this year. Bed-Stuy is still my neighborhood and I take this personally. I’m heartbroken and numb. I want to go home.

Looking at pictures of the aftermath of the shooting isn’t going to do anything for me. I can’t add anything good to the situation by whirling up my anxiety and anger. I’m hurt and feeling frightened.

I pray for the families of the dead in my beloved Brooklyn tonight. I fear for the future and hope that this is not a sign of more of the same to come— but fear that it is. Violence breads violence— always and without exception.

See y’all tomorrow.

About this entry