Marigolds

marigolds

vol. 46 iss. 3

marigolds

Contents

Poetry Visual Arts

About Empathy

7

Earth

8

An Ode to Those We Leave

10

Recidivism

13

Toil to Liberty

14

White Lies

17

What Do You See?

18

Oink

20

My Circadian Rhythm

22

Can We Recieve Some Justice?

25

Martin Luther King Jr.

6

HYDR

9

Fair

11

Fair 2

11

SF Edit 2

12

Eji 1

15

James Baldwin

16

Backyard

19

Malcolm X

21

Change

23

Marsha P. Johnson

24

Audre Lorde

26

Lavish Studios

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From the Editor

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Auburn Circle

In Toni Morrison’s novel The Bluest Eye, marigolds are used as a symbol for the life and vitality of the Black community. However, throughout the story, they never bloom.

Instead, Morrison illustrates how the hostility of the soil left the marigolds unable to grow, a telling comparison to social factors like systemic racism and generational poverty that mark her characters’ lives. Over half a century later, her metaphor still speaks volumes, but the Black community has fought to thrive despite hostile soil. Art--whether it presents itself through music, visual media, or writing-- is and has always been a powerful tool to share stories and experiences. It brings us together and excites us to change; it helps us to feel less alone and to understand our own stories. We at The Auburn Circle hope to help continue the conversation about racial inequality in our nation through this collection of art from Black students on Auburn’s campus.

Chloe McMahon editor–in–chief

Volume 46 Issue 3 | Summer 2020

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MADISON OGLETREE / MARTIN LUTHER KING JR. / DIGITAL ART

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Auburn Circle

About Empathy JEDIAEL FRASER

Your sigh emits specks of starlight.

My fingers pin them in place and together we behold those benevolent explosions from far away and long ago.

Last year we both lamented bright searing pollution that corrupted our window into a dirty mirror and made the sky turn sickly.

Tonight we realize at once how far time has displaced us and the rather little distance one needs to see things newly or to see things new.

Presently we both stand still, made immobile by our feelings, held by the whim of the sky.

We stand and think of home and the pleasantness of our own company.

I wonder if the sky did whisper to you the same silent supplication it poured into my chest.

We linger a moment longer and I think: surely it did.

Volume 46 Issue 3 | Summer 2020

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Earth JOSH HERRING

Mother Nature weeps, for the earth beneath seeks to become extinct our selfishness, unforgivable for earth will soon be unlivable there’s no one to blame but us as a collective we took advantage and for granted natural order will only be restored when we are no more

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DERRICK C. AUSTIN / HYDR / CANON EOS REBEL T3 DSLR

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An Ode to Those We Leave JABIR MCMILLIAN

I'd hope they know I'd hope they know that this isn't goodbye That regardless of religion, our spirits always remain together I'd hope they take the high with the low That every honest bump and bruise was better than living a lie This body is fleeting, but your depiction of me is forever As infinite as that which makes wind blow and rivers flow Such exists a charitable stream of time, perhaps from a man up high That has allowed us to have a tether Which shall permeate through both the abyss and the aether

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Auburn Circle

DERRICK C. AUSTIN / FAIR 1 & 2 / CANON EOS REBEL T3 DSLR

Volume 46 Issue 3 | Summer 2020

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DERRICK C. AUSTIN / SF EDIT 2 / CANON EOS REBEL T3 DSLR

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Recidivism JABIR MCMILLIAN

“The modern black has failed” His single parent home set no goals The private prison complex ensured him jailed Job requirements climbed, while his GED’s value was lowered Rabid lobbyists stripped his check bare To instruct of 401ks, teachers never cared and for his girl and child, he was never there

Volume 46 Issue 3 | Summer 2020

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Toil to Liberty LANEY MAYFIELD

Crimson blood bolts down the back of bondsman after a fresh lash.

The same bondsman who gave me life.

Sweat trickles down the back of the aged swarthy skinned woman under the rays of the sun.

The same woman that carries a queen, who is now the size of a sesame seed.

We are now children who chuckle in the emerald green grass, rolling around in a soft bed amongst blue birds unaware of hue.

The same children who will be forced to detest one another and go their separate ways.

Unbeknownst to me, my flimsy body is fit to carry a blessing who may not be with me forever.

A priceless price tag is attached to my offspring for they are a product of their portly father.

An overseer wife is remorseful but carries on and do as she must.

The same wife who feels my pain but will never quite understand.

I am an exhausted laborer approaching my dying days and I have given all I’ve got.

I held my hands to the sky crying out to the heavens but the spine-chilling sounds of a whip vigorously send me back into my reality.

May I have freedom? May I have freedom? May I have freedom?

Stallions frozen in the woods holding the bodies of those who keep guns warm.

Winter nights are warmer than the hearts of watchmen. Veins of hate are their blankets in the night.

My journey through the jungle tested my resilience and thirst for life on the other side.

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Snapping sticks echoed along with the voices of those who were brutally stopped in their tracks.

Mere pebbles penetrated the soles of my feet as I bumped into strange fruit.

Hunger pains populated my stomach for days at a time and moist leaves never tasted so good.

I saw a tattered house upon the waters.

I tread the large body of water in a disorderly fashion in hopes of obtaining my freedom without sinking.

Pastel and ink colored hands pulled my drenched body unto the surface and blinded my face with a lantern.

Those pale hand who I once resented, rubbed my rough plaster texture spine for comfort and fed me and it never felt so good.

The same pale hand that lent me their home after I escaped the slave quarters.

DERRICK C. AUSTIN / LAVISH STUDIOS / CANON EOS REBEL T3 DSLR

Volume 46 Issue 3 | Summer 2020

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MADISON OGLETREE / JAMES BALDWIN / DIGITAL ART

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Auburn Circle

White Lies JOSH HERRING

They claim to be an ally but it’s easy to see in Their eyes the subtle lies They hide under the guise “Make America Great Again” that is, let America hate again if you’re not to Their standard They can’t stand you They (not-so) secretly damn you when They are born They are taught They are superior and the color of your skin makes you inferior don’t fall for this trap just because They listen to rap and They got a friend who’s black They claim to be your friend but can’t wait to see you in the pen from now until the end color is something we can’t change but it ignites the hate a “free pass” to discriminate They seek to oppress you refuse to accept you They shoot you down in the street even when you’re as innocent as can be all because “they were a threat to me” it’s our right to speak about the atrocities They bequeath and break free

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What Do You See? KENNEDY AUSTIN

Black girl, black girl, what did you see?

“I saw a black boy running down the street” Black girl, black girl, what else did you see?

“I saw the black boy running from the police, he had a toy in his hand and the cop had a piece” Black girl! Black girl! What more did you see?!

“I saw the cop pull the gun from his side and aim it at him He shot 1,2,3 times and the black boy went stiff, he fell to his knees and blood appeared” Black man, black man, what did you see?

“I saw a little black boy running down the street as a little black girl played across from me” Black man, black man, what else did you see?

“I saw a cop shoot the boy and the little girl scream” Black man! Black man! What more did you see?!

“I saw the boys blood as he fell to his knees and I ran to him as the little girl screamed” “The boy had a toy, it was lime green” Officer, officer, what did you see? “ I saw a black boy running away from me! I asked him to stop but he wouldn’t comply, so I grabbed my gun and aimed straight at the sky” Officer! Officer! what more did you see?! “ I saw the little black boy reach for something! I thought it was a knife or a gun so I shot him 1,2,3 times until I got him” Officer! Officer! What more do you have to say?!

“I didn’t mean for it to be this way! I was walking the streets, patrolling the town when a black boy ran and the shop clerk frowned. I kept running and running to get his attention but he ran and ran until I knew something was missing! I pulled out my gun to let him know I was serious but he kept running then I got furious! He turned around with an object in his hand and I shot him 1,2,3 times till there was blood on his pants. When I looked at the ground I saw a lime green toy and next to me was a dead black boy.”

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DERRICK C. AUSTIN / BACKYARD / CANON EOS REBEL T3 DSLR

Dead boy. Dead boy. What did you see? “ I saw an officer running towards me. I had just picked a toy up off of the ground and I ran and ran to show mom the thing I had found” Dead boy. Dead boy. What else did you see? “ I saw the cop reach for his piece. He aimed it straight at me when I didn’t freeze” “Then boom boom boom I fell to my knees” “ I heard a girl scream” “A man approached me” “And when I looked up, I saw the cop crying while I laid in the street black and dying”

Volume 46 Issue 3 | Summer 2020

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Oink JOSH HERRING

One bang, two bang, three bang, four they celebrate when his body hits the floor too many shots in the air for his life, they have no care It’s a lose-lose scenario, you see even when you obey they still hold the power to take your life away and they take advantage of that knowing they’ll get paid leave and the tip of a cap 15, 20 times too many how many shots does it take to show it’s the black man you hate?

They’ll let the school shooter walk but will shoot the black man if he talks our bodies destined to be outlined in chalk there has to be a standard for all because who do we call when the police man breaks the law

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Auburn Circle

MADISON OGLETREE / MALCOLM X / DIGITAL ART

Volume 46 Issue 3 | Summer 2020

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My Circadian Rhythm MYANDI FLOWERS-BRASHER

3:00 AM: Wake up. Write. Write. Write. It’s all I can do. It’s all I know how to do.

Write my feelings. Write my prayers. Write my messages. Write for advocacy.

Write the letters, the notes, the anguish. Write more. More. Check if someone else has died. MORE. 7:45 AM: I can no longer write. I am tired. As my husband goes to work, I go to bed. Daytime is safe. Nothing bad happens during the day. The nightmares don’t come. It is safe to sleep. Look at husband with guilt. He did not get to wake up with me again.

9:00 AM: Fall asleep. There was too much to read before. News updates, news rules to follow, new problems to fix. Unable to sleep until I have checked social media more than once and have scene no new notifications. Get good sleep.

2:00 PM: Wake up. Wake up in a fairly good mood. Check social media. Check messages. Destroy mood. Punish myself for not sleeping at night and leaving so many messages unread for so long. Check if someone else has died. Feel like failure.

3:00 PM: Work. It is a short, two-hour reprieve.

Focus on the language. Focus on the grammar.

Focus on the client. Focus. Don’t check if someone else has died. FOCUS. 5:00 PM: Write for others. Write to send messages. Write to tell stories. Check if someone else has died. Write to teach.

Write to protest. Write. WRITE. 7:00 PM: Talk to others. Get angry. Get frustrated. Rant to husband. Complain. Feel unheard. Feel anti-Black. Remind myself that I am Black and pro-Black, and no one gets to decide what that means but me. Continue to advocate.

Advocate. ADVOCATE. 22

Auburn Circle

DERRICK C. AUSTIN / CHANGE / CANON EOS REBEL T3 DSLR

I am, arguably, doing well. Sleeping, albeit during the day, working, and advocating. I am finding healthy ways to vent my frustrations and help my community. I will not stop because my city and my school need to change. Enough is enough. No more excuses.

3:00 AM: Wake up. Wri— 2:00 AM: Dream of pain and sorrow.

1:00 AM: Husband comes to bed. I wake up. He comforts me and encourages me to fall back asleep. Toss and turn.

Wake up every few minutes. I must sleep. Sleep. SLEEP. 11:30 PM: Pray (read: beg) for peace and joy in my dreams. Pray (read: beg) for God to guide my steps, choices, and speak through me. Fall asleep. Toss and turn. Wake up every few minutes. Did I ever eat?

10:00 PM: Lay down. Tonight, is the night for full sleep. Relax by watching YouTube. Nothing positive. Can’t escape videos on protests and brutality.

The people I enjoy watching are not posting out of solidarity to not promote non-Black businesses. Watch videos on the status of our country’s economy instead. Check social media. Try to share writing. Check if someone else has died.

9:00 PM: Continue discussions and work to finish plans.

Stop talking. Look at husband with guilt. Failed to cook again.

Check if someone else has died.

Volume 46 Issue 3 | Summer 2020

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MADISON OGLETREE / MARSHA P. JOHNSON / DIGITAL ART

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Auburn Circle

Can We Receive Some Justice?

HALEY WILLIS

Racism is over they say Why do I still feel the heat like we are in 1950?

He was dead Laying in the street Face and body covered in a white sheet Did shooting him make you feel any safer?

He was unarmed the worst kind Ending his life Before he was able to live Black male Black female The black form Always targeted Maybe I will rethink Standing in my own back yard Holding my cell phone Walking down the street Reaching for my I.D. Selling some CDs I’ll put my hands up I’ll raise em high For my fallen brothers and sisters Sometimes I question How do they see me?

Why do they see my blackness, before they see me?

Volume 46 Issue 3 | Summer 2020

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DERRICK C. AUSTIN / LAVISH STUDIOS / CANON EOS REBEL T3 DSLR

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Auburn Circle

MADISON OGLETREE / AUDRE LORDE / DIGITAL ART

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