This is a slightly revised post that I shared on Facebook last week. It is an update of sorts on an essay of mine that was published not long ago.
***
In my last published piece “Hair Care Chronicles” (Forge Literary Magazine / April 7, 2025), I reflect on the disappearance of two of my hairstylists, one of whom was murdered. In the piece, I mention not remembering how the murdered woman was killed. Last week, while rummaging through a binder full of old notes and unfinished pieces, I had my memory jogged.
I found something I wrote called “A Rap So Deep In Blue.” A title which I’m pretty sure was my poetic play on the word “rhapsody.” I was taken aback when I read the following section of the piece.
Black girl
what
nightmares
haunt you?
The rituals of hair. The hair rituals . . .
That bond us/we women of color
a bond
he shattered
with a single blast from a shotgun
He killed her with a shotgun.
And all I can think now
are of her hands
her hands
in my hair
her hands in my hair
her hands . . . and (every now and then)
. . . her blood on his hands
and I can’t even remember her name
***
He killed her with a shotgun. Somehow, I’d forgotten that horrifying detail. I’m not sure where I got the “single blast” part. Something tells me, I wasn’t told that. I’m guessing, at some point, I must have read about the tragedy in the newspaper. In any case, my memory was wiped clean of all those details. I wonder if a part of me never wanted the brutal manner of her death to arise when thoughts of her crossed my mind. To shoot someone at close range with a shotgun means you not only don’t intend for them to survive, but you aim to destroy their body in the process, not unlike the current crop of twisted individuals who wreck the lives of innocents with modern day automatic weaponry. So chilling and coldblooded.
***
If you haven’t read the entire piece and would like to do so, you can find it here:
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