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Estella Ramirez
Estella Ramirez is a Poet from Los Angeles.
She is the runner up in the Los Angeles Poet Society's 4th Annual Summer Poetry Contest. Her poem, Bree Newsome, embodied the triumph of a generation of humanity who choses a path of peace and brotherhood.
Thank you, Estella for such a wonderful poetic ambition of documenting our history and for showing us Summer of Peace!
Estella's writing has most recently appeared in Kudzu House Quarterly and The
Toast, among other publications. She is grateful for her teachers at Johns Hopkins University and Texas State University, where she earned her MFA in Poetry. Now in Los Angeles, California, she works as a private instructor and creative writing workshop facilitator. Her poetry salon and book club events can be found in her Meetup group, The New Notebook.
Bree Newsome
It wasn’t a moment
though a moment captured it
captured her
poised
harnessed to the pole
in climbing gear
as though at the peak
of a mountain top
the Confederate flag flailing
in defeat
finally
in her fist.
But it took a community of people
she was deliberately chosen
as Rosa Parks was chosen.
It took planning and practice.
She collected her tools
maybe her thoughts
running all possible
outcomes
An early morning
at the South Carolina Statehouse
she was halfway up the pole
before police approached
nothing left for them
but to call up impotently to her
ma’am.
She was cautious
communicative
insurance but no guarantee against
worst case violence.
I am prepared to be arrested
she repeated.
But first she had to do this one thing
legs adjusting for best footing
crowd below
like the nightmare gym class of movies
except here the classmates are officers of the law
here a black woman braves the shouts
here the gym class is a racist history
still bleeding and burning
into today.
She reaches the top
takes the damned thing off
holds it
invokes God but also Justice
she has waited
they have waited
we have waited long
enough but she will speak.
She will take her time coming down
she will ask for assistance to reach ground
place her hands behind her
and allow herself to be restrained
taken on her terms
with coy smile
for a moment
for herself
for all the little black girls
she says
because I am free.
Pity and Pride
It was beginning to dusk
a summer walk downtown
the usual parade
of dogs on leashes
bodies on trend
me in the opposite direction
no cash, no plans, no purpose
but welcome to
the surprises of air on skin
the sienna of setting sun
almost pure joy of possibility
except for a far off but whittling
self-pity.
I came upon a street musician
crouched over his guitar case.
I felt two things in succession:
dread that I had no cash
the full view of his face.
The tumor swelled the entirety
of the left side
and I couldn’t help but wonder
how much it weighed.
I decided to give him
the dignity of being seen
right in the eyes
something I assumed
with some shame
he rarely received.
I smiled
with unconditional acceptance.
Acknowledgment
one person to another and back
was all that mattered here.
He returned the gesture
said I had the most beautiful smile
and for a moment I believed it.
In my privileged fantasy
two individuals met
wooed by one another’s
practiced brave smiles
each lovelier than they thought.
But it nagged at me –
the gall to think
my smile
some sort of currency –
he needs real money.
Perhaps he flatters every girl
the combination
of pity and pride
perfect for attracting tips.
I told him I’d be back
listen to him play.
But when I walked back
change pulsing in my pocket
he was gone.
I give up
making meaning
from an empty-pocket
kind of kindness
a possibly empty compliment
no coins lost
none gained.