by Rediet Wondwossen Delelegne, United World College Maastricht
29th June, 2020
I recently got into an accident,
one in which I hurt my knee.
No! One in which my soul was crushed
I was left with debris.
a
I had fallen from my bike.
I always seem to do,
for i am not a graceful creature.
A feature I cannot afford.
The concrete takes all
to its own accord.
a
It’s hard not to fall
With a head full of air
and optimistic ideals.
It was that God Damn Fluffy Hair!
It was in its nature to conceal
The danger was yet to be revealed.
a
Reckless as always
I took my turn too fast.
Went tumbling into a haze,
mistaking it for the image you cast.
This too i must forget,
for it couldn’t have been about race.
I am delusional like that.
a
Thank God! For my body.
My heavy body to anchor me to earth.
I guess it was my fault.
Im sorry.
Damn! Why doesn’t that stop the hurt?
a
A sturdy African body which can
withstand the Dutch cold.
Cold for hours at a time.
It claimed the body I called mine.
a
And that Hair!
That covers my face
when the wind blows.
Strangers ignored my woes and
quickended their pace.
Again i guess it was wrong,
of me to pose.
a
As if………..
a
As if i wasn’t dangerous
a
As if i wasn’t black and scary in the dark
a
As if I wasn’t a freathened girl in a painful situation.
a
My calls fell into a vacuum,
silent is the ring of a black youth.
Every dial overpowered my prayers.
Ploughing through me in perfect squares.
In each planting a seed of shame,
shame for expecting a 5 minute
drive from where i fell
to where I lay.
a
Miscommunication you called it?
Couldn’t you have checked up on me?
Subsequently you deleted my plea’s
from your voicemail machine.
I sat on that concrete block for 2 hours with my pulsing knee.
Does the duty phone only work for those who are lighter than me?
Damn, I never even got a formal apology.
a
I fell off my bike
I lost control to those
Who claimed my steering bars
Even when I thought I had gripped them.
a
Those with me tried to assist,
Two went ahead
One stayed in instead.
Yet my saviors failed to exist.
Savior like Christ
without a sense of time.
Time like the price
it was like them to play with my life
Rolling with their dice.
a
Next time, maybe i’ll get a lucky number.
Wouldn’t that be nice?
a
ረድ። (Red)
a
Illustration by Ece Fisgin
