Open Eyes

We stand together with open eyes;
but that isn’t enough.
We need to continue this difficult conversation.
We are all bound by our
common humanity.

We no longer get to turn a blind eye.
African Americans in our country wake up to this
every day
and they don’t get the
luxury of looking away;
neither do we.

by Erik Shinker

If you would like to donate to help the recovery of Lake Street businesses who were victims of the rioting, please visit welovelakestreet.com

For more ways to support Racial Justice, this article has a large list that is a great resource.

My Fellow White People

My fellow white people, let’s perform a thought experiment, shall we?

Imagine: A video is released of an unarmed white man taken into custody for a non-violent crime who is lying on the ground, subdued by a black police officer who is placing his knee into the white man’s neck.

We hear the subdued, unarmed white man on the ground struggling for breath, begging through strained breath the black officer for minutes to take the pressure off before falling unconscious.

The white man loses his life; the black police officer only loses his job.

Would you not rage? Would you not stand in righteous defiance of a system that clearly failed to bring justice for someone who died in the custody of those who are supposed to protect us? Would you not cry out, make your voice heard, and exercise your right to assemble?

Of course you would; but that isn’t what happened.

George Floyd was an unarmed black man; Derek Chauvin was a white police officer. This was only the latest example of a problem inherent in our society that we are all too aware of; but while many white voices joined in solidarity to call for justice, many of us did not. Continue reading “My Fellow White People”

Double Standard

My words are just pointless noise,
meaningless when not directed
at the horrors that surround.

A blue, double standard
flies high in the face of
equality, empathy, and justice.
Protections make the prosecution of
the police more difficult;
they have acknowledged this, but
done nothing.

How can we not hold the enforcers of
our laws doubly accountable for breaking them?
Why is the burden of justification when force is applied
so much lower?
This is systemic, so how can we
trust the system when it is
built to protect the police and not
its citizens?

by Erik Shinker

If you would like to donate to help the recovery of Lake Street businesses who were victims of the rioting, please visit welovelakestreet.com

For more ways to support Racial Justice, this article has a large list that is a great resource.

Privilege

I have the option, to
bury my head, to
change the channel, to
avoid the distressing situation.
I can walk away and do nothing simply because of
my location, my socioeconomic status, my
skin color.

Yet another African American man
has died at the hands of the Police;
to deny this pattern is to be intentionally
blind and ignorant in the worst way.
People are angry, we are upset,
and rightfully so.

But there are those taking things too far;
destroying a community already beset by
grief and strife at the callous death of
George Floyd.
Empathy seems to have deserted us;
she has taken flight and withdrawn from our
undeserving presence.

I could choose to look at the
beauty in the world around me and
deny the evil in the system, but
that is a privilege I never asked for,
nor one I should abuse.

I have a platform,
a voice, and I am disturbed;
by the indifference I see, the
useless finger pointing and politicizing.
People’s lives are being destroyed, and
any one who thinks differently needs to take
a long, hard look at their perspective.

This isn’t happening in some far away place;
this is in my state, my country.
The world is watching us;
how will we show them that we can be better?
That we will be better? That when
change needs to be made, we
will roll up our sleeves and get to work.
This is a time of great unrest and difficulty,
and we need to build one another up, not
tear ourselves apart.

For those who are privileged like me, I beg you;
don’t turn away from what is happening.
Call to action; support the right to assemble and speak to truth;
demonstrate peacefully if you are moved.
We are in this together, and
we demand justice.

by Erik Shinker

If you would like to donate to help the recovery of Lake Street businesses who were victims of the rioting, please visit welovelakestreet.com

For more ways to support Racial Justice, this article has a large list that is a great resource.

My Shadow Sleeps Forever

Fur remains to mark
the common, cozy places of his rest.
Nuzzling, my constant companion of over
16 years seeks solace in my touch.
His nose nudges my hands as though
propelled by the vibration of his purring.
Matted, greasy fur from a lack of
self care covers him. He headbutts me in earnest,
as aggressive for affection as ever.

I have known him through all his years,
though 10 passed me by the time he arrived.
Precocious, inquisitive, and all the other
adjectives we bestow upon the young.
Following my footsteps, his padding paws
were ever-present.
He was vocal from the beginning:
baby “mews” that squeaked from little lungs;
hearty “arrs” and “ows” in adulthood;
and final, ornery, pitiful yowls for release.

Arthritis arrested his joints;
he wasted away as his appetite
disappeared and we discovered
bony hips once covered by powerful haunches.
His claws no longer retracted,
now creating a “ticktickticktick” when he prowled the
hardwood of our first floor.
Houses with too many stairs became his enemy;
he trudged from food to litter box until
he could no longer make the trip in time.

Some days sleep was his only escape,
though if he woke and saw my face,
purrs soon permeated the air. I could never be sure
whether his whiskers and twitching paws,
unsettled by snores,
signified dreams or nightmares.

But my shadow sleeps
forever; gone
from the pain of this world.
He leaves behind comforting memories;
an example of unconditional love and affection.
He lives on in dreams; warming himself in the sun,
surrounded by the smell of fresh-sliced ham,
cold water dripping from his whiskers, and
the chirping of birds to be
stalked in the tall grass.

by Erik Shinker

Options of Escape

It was always an option;
the chance of escape from the everyday,
the routine, the mundane.
An epiphany of wanderlust and
the ideals of those post-grad, 20-somethings
still clinging to their
divinely endowed potential.

The lie of being content now revealed;
that surrogate stories were all the travel necessary
was a fool’s fantasy;
that imagination and
the ability to translate the stories of others,
manifest their magnificence,
were enough.

Things lost that were never owned,
ideals implanted from media and music.
The cowl of adulthood lies heavy with
the knowledge that the
past has passed and
there is no going back.

We fall, warriors cut apart by
time’s rusty blade, learning nothing;
faux-philosophers who cling to clichés and
parrot the same concerns that add
not wisdom, but
exhaustion.

by Erik Shinker

Echoes

The accordion ebb and flow of
infatuation. Waltzing, Parisian
lovers entwined. They once stood
silhouetted in the hazy ember of
Sunday twilight.
Separated by a plague, their world
halted on its axis and spun the opposite.
They shout toward one another as a
fissure flexes and casts them away from each other.
Their ears cupped to hear as their cries fade and
echo; eventually lost to any reverberation.

by Erik Shinker

A Vision

She is a vision I once had,
though created by something far more powerful.
A reflection of Her,
immaculate in her beauty and grace.

Her smile, an ivory signal of
laughter and joy.
Hands,
delicate,
with long fingers to
caress and coax.
A slender frame, to
be held,
passing warmth from flesh to palm.

She is something beyond
possession, beyond
me.
She is all that is good in the world, and
I only ask for the attention to
let her know it.

But, I don’t know her, or
if she’d even want to know me.

by Erik Shinker