Flyaway Chaff on the Wind

[Content warning: violence, state violence, police killings of Black women]

Sheneque Proctor. Say her name.

It’s a natural thing,
a parent wanting their baby to come home,
a parent wanting their baby safe from harm.
That need, that desire, powerful.

A mother wanted her baby to come home.
Instead, had to find her in a police station.
The need, the desire to find her child so powerful.
But, instead of coming home, her baby died.

A mother tried to find her baby in a police station.
Sheneque Proctor was only 18.
Instead of going home with her mother, Sheneque Proctor died.
Instead of care, this baby died (alone?) in a police cell.

Sheneque Proctor was only 18. Only 18.
The police said she should have been fine.
Instead, she died (alone?) in a police cell.
Another too-young life lost.

The police said she should have been fine,
but they refused to release video of Sheneque’s time in that cell.
Another too-young life lost,
another police department shrugging it off, hiding information.

Police refused to release video of Sheneque’s time in that cell —
a refusal that reeks of knowledge, of culpability.
They shrug off Sheneque’s death, hide vital information
as if she is nothing more than chaff on the wind.

The refusal screams knowledge, culpability.
Sheneque’s baby son is motherless, she is gone,
flyaway chaff on the wind.
How can she be thrown away so casually?

Sheneque’s baby, motherless. She is gone.
Her son will never know his mother,
casually thrown away.
The clock hands click down toward zero.

It’s an unnatural thing.


Pantoum — A poem of four-line stanzas in which the second and fourth lines of each stanza become the first and third lines of the next stanza. The final line can be a repeat of the first line of the poem.

Say Her Name — A movement calling attention to police violence against Black women, girls and femmes. Fill the void. Lift your voice. Say her name.


It’s National Poetry Month! Every April for almost the full life of this blog, I have taken on the challenge of writing a poem a day. A year or so in, I upped the ante ton the challenge and decided to choose a specific poetry form each year and write that form for the month — 30 tanka, 30 rhyme royals, etc. It’s been a hard slog most years, as I struggle mightily with writing poetry, with feeling “allowed” to try writing poetry. So why make it harder by adding onto the base 30/30 challenge? Well, that’s kind of who I am, isn’t it? I continue.

napomo 1

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