E x p a n s i o n of Fire Passage

From "Marielle, Presente!"

The following is a revision & e x p a n s i o n of the fire imagery passage from my original piece entitled Marielle, Presente!

Six years went by while people chanted “quem mandou matar Marielle.” Six years went by and no one possessed a sense of urgency because Black girls & women disappear in clouded-heavy smoke. The theatre of mushroomed carbon suspended in the air holds attention longer than the source of our burning bodies. The state & media fan the smoke not to make it disappear faster but to make it linger longer. Black girls turned women turn to smoke—visible exhalation from an exhausted body—revered in sighing particles rather than whole. Diffused carbon is more valuable to some than diffused oxygen wandering through a living body. Six years went by as the smoke fanned but it never fully cleared. Those who ignore the smoke will still feel the consequences—choking from illusionary ignorant bliss.

When Black girls & women disappear our shadows turn into dancing silhouette puppets & our heartstrings pulled by the whims of fanfare. A body in homeostasis, with a calm & steady yellow brick chest, is not as riveting to the eyes as a shocked pulsating body yanked about for entertainment purposes.

Where there’s wafting smoke there’s blazing fire. People often fail to peel their eyes from the grey laminated sky to the ground they walk on. Where there’s smoke there’s fire & most of the time the source is a Black Woman burning beneath all that was built upon their railroad spined back & with their story inscribed hands. From Black Women’s artful & genius minds imaginative worlds & solutions sprung like daffodils announcing spring.

While the Black Woman’s body appears to be pulsating to onlookers, & those yanking the strings, it is simultaneously writhing & withering. Burning is not a regular sensation spurred by contraction; it is contortion induced by extreme discomfort. Where there’s smoke there is fire & most of the time the source is a Black Woman whose body & hydrangea lungs desperately need water.

Quem vai trazer chuva ou agua para mulheres pretas? Quem?

People love the fullness of hydrangeas when they are taking up space & providing the foundation for other blooms to stand tall by offering themselves up to be punctured into. Yet, the moment the negative space increases as a result of withering the foundation suddenly becomes faulty & unstable. In an attempt to save them, people douse their roots & stems in water. However, these flowers only drink through their petals. The only way to ensure Black Women’s hydrangea lungs are full is to nourish them while we are still alive.

Quem vai trazer chuva e agua para mulheres pretas? Quem?

Who will bring the rain and the water for Black Women? Who?

Pails of water are nothing more than a red curtain signifying the end of a public show. Whether or not we survive the public spectacle society has decided is our life—holding both the match & tear-filled buckets—who brings the drink to be consumed & dispersed through our body to nourish our hydrangea lungs so our chest may beat steady.

What is love if it’s never truly felt in the way your body recognizes & accepts it? If the whole time we were nourished through petals lips & needed the rain to stop the blaze—then what good is one or the other? What good are resurrected hydrangea lungs if they will just be punctured again with hierarchal stilts in the name of progress?

Pour the pail once you’ve lit the match to ignite the show of generational terror. I’m not denying that the flames need to be extinguished. But give us the life force of water while we are alive to drink what naturally supports us. Those who ignore the smoke will still feel the consequences—choking from illusionary ignorant bliss.

I dream of my work burning whole like a star & sighing all the smoke out of the bells & whistles of my body. My smoke choking whoever denies the bright trail I scorch through the sky. I dream of being revered whole & kept alive.

Therefore, while the investigation is taking place, Black Feminists keep Marielle whole & alive through the rallying cry Marielle, Presente (Marielle is here). Marielle, Presente keeps Marielle whole & unpunctured. Marielle, Presente protects the dispersion of the state’s dismemberment of the ancient site of memory that is a person. This call & response stems from the same place that moved Harriet into action by saying the words my people are free. When we chant Palestine will be free we are reaching back into the same well of sustenance & liberatory imagination. We continuously incant the future knowing each present second plunges us forward in a time we actively create.

It has become increasingly clear to me, like how Imani Perry urges us to look South to understand the soul of the United States, that we must look to the Global South & beyond the belly of empire to understand the soul of desire, devotion, & life that white supremacist capitalist patriarchy (bell hooks) vehemently tries to deny us the ecstasy of feeling.

We are still here!

Marielle is here!

Marielle, Presente!

Please remember if you choose to quote this piece, share this piece, or any piece on this publication to always CITE BLACK WOMEN. Please always include my name (Kay Brown she/her pronouns) and a link to the publication of the Assemblage: Baby’s Breath substack in your sharing practice.

To further support my writing practice, receive additional offerings that connect to my pieces, & be the first to hear about other ways to engage in the theory of Assemblage, please consider becoming a paid subscriber. Soon I will invite fellow unruly folks to practice gathering & honoring with me in a generous clearing ✨. Stay tuned for updates!

Lastly, remember, that referrals are now available! This means you get to speak the name Assemblage: Baby’s Breath out loud to your community while receiving unique grounded gathered gifts from me. Thank you for being here 💙.