5am Thoughts | Black Tiles | The Last Tasmanian Tiger
by Tajah Hamilton
illustration courtesy of @blkmoodyboi
Black Tiles
Black tiles litter the online hellscape,
Unsure footing of fake woke foes flanked by physical iron monuments to mediocrity.
May they all enjoy their contact with the Thames, the Avon, the fucking Seine
Holiest of baptism for unholy acts
Or Melt them down and remake them into the true near history of things worth remembering.
Windrush.
The lives of the Grenfell inhabitants.
An ode to this year’s cancelled carnival, the first in over 50 years.
We cannot forget the joy in revolution, in liberation, in daily acts of resistance
In the calypso, the playing of mas, the jazzy trumpets of Steam Down and bodies jumping to their take on Outkast's ‘Spottiottiedopaliscious’.
We will not let the collective memory be the grief, the rage, the saccharine heartache of white kids who used to shout 'Oreo' in the playground, or grab for afros with dutty hands, who never realised it was THIS bad and will tell their all white colleagues the same, as they all mumble and nod and post another motherfucking black tile on Instagram which censors black people for so much as smiling too wide.
I want, when we think back to this time, to think of the 'Black Trans Lives Matter' banners hanging out of windows in Hackney, the black woman who stood, fist raised, space reclaimed, where Edward Colston used to be. I want us to think of all of the black therapy funds people power brought to the forefront and got paid.
The long awaited joy of being moved off a waiting list.
So, when you're asked how many coin chasing brands shared a black tile, respond not with capitalism's consumer driven lovechild, speak up on the individuals, the collectives, the chosen families, who turned countless instances of tears shed over stopped breath into an orchard overflowing with food for thought and a resting spot for everyone whose been carrying this liberation in their bones since birth.
5am Thoughts
Completamente llena de una ira que no tiene fuente
A rage that cannot be sat with, that hasn't been taught to be sat with, that feels more comfortable gripping the plastic handle of a kitchen knife quickly grabbed while eyes are hazed over in red.
We ask ourselves,
Where does it come from, this sourceless anger, this pure rage with no barrier method to protect others from the bitter seeds it sows in open mouths?
We ask this as we are confined to our too small flats, with too much time overflowing from our quaking hands that pools into the crevices of cerebral folds, constantly prodding ourselves with questions we've left unanswered for years.
Why are we so unhappy? Why does it take the push of a pin into a Play-Doh soul to turn us into puppets that screech to a maker who keeps fucking with us?
Why do we flick back to the same channels where we die, over and over again? How many times can we watch the same characters kill the imagined threats they create in their minds - real life version of 1000 Ways to Die? How many times can we see that rage turn inwards and lash out -
Viper eggs -
Birthing red,
Red
Red everywhere
Black and white and red with exit wounds in the shape of a Serengeti safari sigh.
The Last Tasmanian Tiger
I walk the cage / 25 trots in one direction/ 10 bounds in another/
A new Abelia plant is poking through the left side / sniff / sneeze / the gamekeeper looks my way /
I hate that one the most
Why do we not only get locked up / but also with things that look at us like that?
I'm not the meat here.
I miss the chase / warm blood in the neck / shudder in the thighs / the triumphant swagger of my partner and I after it was done
I heard of what happened before others could make the first bite
Boom / bap / slide / dust cloud / whimper / end.
Sometimes the end doesn't come with a shot / it comes wielding a burlap sack / and a pencil
To draw you as the devil in your own story.
about Tajah (they/them)
Tajah Hamilton is a black non-binary writer from London. They write poetry exploring the intersections of gender identity, race and mental health, as well as the occasional love poem or five. They were also a Merky New Writer’s Prize finalist for 2019, and have been published in the BAME anthology ‘The Colour of Madness’.
instagram: @tajahspoetry