Please Remember Our Names

Black Women Lost to Poverty

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I’ve lost two friends to poverty. Both Black women. Both writers.

I was humbled to cross paths with Lori in real life. I knew Shafiqah through her words. We shared a similar story, one that I could have written.

This was my friend Lori Yearwood

I think about them often. I wonder if the people who consumed their content ever do? Based on the way this place discards Black women, I have my doubts. We exist in a society that doesn’t remember our lives - it remembers our labor.

We have value beyond our labor.

This was writer Shafiqah Hudson

With every piece of my broken heart, I want to live. And yet, there are days when I feel closer to the fate of Lori and Shafiqah than I do to my own survival.

I have work to do in this world, but I am tired.

I have a furious determination to live, but I am tired.

My ancestors didn’t endure for my life to end this way, but I am tired.

I am trying my damndest to write a different end to my story.

Any hope for my survival exists away from this country and in Mexico.

However, making that a reality takes financial resources, physical energy and emotional capacity that I lack at moment.

I value this space and never want to overwhelm it with asks. But for those of you who feel called to support my wellness in the name of repair, you can find ways here.

Please spend time today to read the stories of Lori and Shafiqah. Find their writings. Speak their names.

For many Black women in poverty, our only chance to rest is after we aren’t here. I am weary but I am not done. I am still here. In the words of the Nap Bishop from Rest Is Resistance, I will rest.

To my fellow Black women and those who are tired, I hope you do the same.