Strangers know my Name

I interned at the Schomburg Center for a summer as a senior in college. I walked to the center every day. Every day a group of Black men was sitting close to each other. I could tell they were kin. They weren’t touching but they did seem bound up together. Apart but one on top of the other all the same. Mangled together beautifully. Not sure of top from bottom.

My friends would speak to them. I let the others’ salutations handle my own. The mangled men noticed.

I think a lot about how we are all bound up together as humans. Even strangers who don’t know who you are…