We Look Better Alive
by Ali Black
On Birthdays, Twerking, and Honoring the Dead
1.
While the birthday girl twerks in the mirror,
her friends record her.
This is the new history. Hands up. Cameras out.
The DJ plays Trap Beckham’s “Birthday Bitch”
and shouts out the Virgos. Bent over,
the birthday girl’s friends slap her on her butt.
She gives a wild and passionate twerk.
The men, staring from a distance, bob their heads
to the beat and smile. Four bottle service girls
bring bottles of champagne topped with sparklers
and a sign that reads, “One time for the birthday girl!”
Everything is so turnt I forget
this city is the worst place
for Black women to be alive.
2.
For Black women to be alive.
This is what I wish for every morning
when I wake up to check my city’s news
page on Instagram. Almost every morning,
I read about another dead Black woman.
Last night, I made it home safe.
Last night, the birthday girl twerked
for two songs straight. Last night, a local
celebrity made it home safe, then she was killed.
Now her story is all over Instagram.
Somebody is in the comments saying
it was a domestic dispute and suggests we
keep our comments to ourselves
because we don’t know the full story.
3.
Because we don’t know the full story,
the birthday girl begs for white roses.
I guess this is what people mean
when they say, give me my flowers
while I’m still alive. At the bar,
I give the birthday girl a small bouquet
of white roses. She sits them down
and takes a video of the scene—
the flowers, her glass of peach Bellini,
her sequined clutch purse.
This is her history.
We are so blessed to be alive
in my city. Every other day,
there’s another incident of a Black woman dying.
4.
There’s another incident of a Black woman dying
and I’ve made it my job to write about them.
When I was younger, the funerals I attended
only had Black women in the caskets.
My aunt was buried wearing her white
wedding dress. There was so much mud
at her burial we ruined our shoes.
I can’t remember my great-grandmother’s funeral.
I’ve lost too many of my favorite women.
Back then, I didn’t know I could
keep parts of the women alive with words.
Last week, a woman holding a baby
was shot and killed in a front yard.
My city has so much work to do.
5.
My city has so much work to do
to keep Black women out of caskets.
It takes a Bloomberg report to say
Cleveland is the worst city for Black women
before the Mayor pretends to pay attention.
He tries to start a commission
for Black women and girls and fails.
I don’t believe in mayors
who are silent whenever a Black woman dies.
The Mayor owes us an apology.
I mean, yesterday the birthday girl told me
she lost her grandmother, said
they found her dead in her home.
She’d been dead for days.
6.
She’d been dead. For days,
I couldn’t stop thinking
about the birthday girl
and her late grandmother.
For days, the birthday girl searched
through her grandmother’s old things.
She found a pair of vintage Louis Vuitton loafers.
They’d be cute on you, she said.
But I’ve never worn a dead woman’s shoes.
Maybe that’s how I should honor the dead.
For days, the birthday girl danced in the mirror.
For days, the birthday girl ate expensive meals.
Maybe this is how
she honors the dead.
7.
She honors the dead
by celebrating her birthday for six days
straight. All this celebrating, all this twerking,
all these flowers, all those caskets for Black women,
make it all so complicated.
Today we twerk.
Today we toast.
Today we take the birthday girl out
to celebrate all while another Black woman
is killed. I am always thinking about Black women
dying. This is a way to honor the dead.
Tonight, I honor the dead
by asking the DJ to cut the music
while the birthday girl twerks in the mirror.
1.
While the birthday girl twerks in the mirror,
her friends record her.
This is the new history. Hands up. Cameras out.
The DJ plays Trap Beckham’s “Birthday Bitch”
and shouts out the Virgos. Bent over,
the birthday girl’s friends slap her on her butt.
She gives a wild and passionate twerk.
The men, staring from a distance, bob their heads
to the beat and smile. Four bottle service girls
bring bottles of champagne topped with sparklers
and a sign that reads, “One time for the birthday girl!”
Everything is so turnt I forget
this city is the worst place
for Black women to be alive.
2.
For Black women to be alive.
This is what I wish for every morning
when I wake up to check my city’s news
page on Instagram. Almost every morning,
I read about another dead Black woman.
Last night, I made it home safe.
Last night, the birthday girl twerked
for two songs straight. Last night, a local
celebrity made it home safe, then she was killed.
Now her story is all over Instagram.
Somebody is in the comments saying
it was a domestic dispute and suggests we
keep our comments to ourselves
because we don’t know the full story.
3.
Because we don’t know the full story,
the birthday girl begs for white roses.
I guess this is what people mean
when they say, give me my flowers
while I’m still alive. At the bar,
I give the birthday girl a small bouquet
of white roses. She sits them down
and takes a video of the scene—
the flowers, her glass of peach Bellini,
her sequined clutch purse.
This is her history.
We are so blessed to be alive
in my city. Every other day,
there’s another incident of a Black woman dying.
4.
There’s another incident of a Black woman dying
and I’ve made it my job to write about them.
When I was younger, the funerals I attended
only had Black women in the caskets.
My aunt was buried wearing her white
wedding dress. There was so much mud
at her burial we ruined our shoes.
I can’t remember my great-grandmother’s funeral.
I’ve lost too many of my favorite women.
Back then, I didn’t know I could
keep parts of the women alive with words.
Last week, a woman holding a baby
was shot and killed in a front yard.
My city has so much work to do.
5.
My city has so much work to do
to keep Black women out of caskets.
It takes a Bloomberg report to say
Cleveland is the worst city for Black women
before the Mayor pretends to pay attention.
He tries to start a commission
for Black women and girls and fails.
I don’t believe in mayors
who are silent whenever a Black woman dies.
The Mayor owes us an apology.
I mean, yesterday the birthday girl told me
she lost her grandmother, said
they found her dead in her home.
She’d been dead for days.
6.
She’d been dead. For days,
I couldn’t stop thinking
about the birthday girl
and her late grandmother.
For days, the birthday girl searched
through her grandmother’s old things.
She found a pair of vintage Louis Vuitton loafers.
They’d be cute on you, she said.
But I’ve never worn a dead woman’s shoes.
Maybe that’s how I should honor the dead.
For days, the birthday girl danced in the mirror.
For days, the birthday girl ate expensive meals.
Maybe this is how
she honors the dead.
7.
She honors the dead
by celebrating her birthday for six days
straight. All this celebrating, all this twerking,
all these flowers, all those caskets for Black women,
make it all so complicated.
Today we twerk.
Today we toast.
Today we take the birthday girl out
to celebrate all while another Black woman
is killed. I am always thinking about Black women
dying. This is a way to honor the dead.
Tonight, I honor the dead
by asking the DJ to cut the music
while the birthday girl twerks in the mirror.
Ali Black is a writer from Cleveland, Ohio and the author of If It Heals At All (Jacar Press, 2020).
The book was selected by Jaki Shelton Green for the New Voices Series and named a finalist for the
2021 Ohioana Book Award in poetry. Her writing has appeared in The Atticus Review, jubilat, Literary
Hub, The Offing, The Adroit Journal and elsewhere. She is the co-founder of Balance Point Studios, a
nonprofit organization dedicated to making, teaching, and sharing art. The organization offers a
creative writing program for teens called The Most Promising.
The book was selected by Jaki Shelton Green for the New Voices Series and named a finalist for the
2021 Ohioana Book Award in poetry. Her writing has appeared in The Atticus Review, jubilat, Literary
Hub, The Offing, The Adroit Journal and elsewhere. She is the co-founder of Balance Point Studios, a
nonprofit organization dedicated to making, teaching, and sharing art. The organization offers a
creative writing program for teens called The Most Promising.