The stock market rises…and the bodies fall

They hawk their hauls on TikTok. A million views, a thousand stitches, the algorithm feeds. We doomscroll through Stanley Cups, Starbucks bears, Labubu must-haves and the bodies fall.

A new contestant on the Trairors, hot takes, discourse, fan cams while an ICE vans circles my block and the bodies fall

A slow creep from a white van at dawn
Snatching neighbors from bus stops
Vanishing friends in the blink of an eye

I skip the gym…I forgot my papers at home
Calculate the risk of every errand:
Grocery store? Maybe. Post office? Not today.
The corner store where they know my face? Still not safe enough.

The fear isn’t new.
We’ve known this forever:
Black folks stopped for existing. Chokeholds on camera, knees on necks, hands up don’t shoot
Asian folks shoved onto train tracks. Told to go back, as if they just arrived
Brown folks face-down on pavement. “Show me your papers” in the land of the free

We learned early…keep your head down
Know where the exits are
Memorize which neighborhoods to avoid
Which cops to fear
Which silence keeps you alive

But now white people are seeing it.
Not in our neighborhoods, not on our bodies
On their feeds, in their towns, to people who look like them
Suddenly the dystopia isn’t theoretical

The authoritarianism isn’t elsewhere
The violence isn’t “complicated”
Now it rattles in their bones
Now they feel the fear we inherited

Now the images we grew up with are interrupting their brunch

And still….we argue about Housewife favorites
Debate the best air fryer
Queue up the next true crime doc
Plan our Eras Tour outfits

Swipe right, swipe left, swipe away the news

Pedro Pascal is still sexy
Timothée Chalamet got a new haircut
Someone’s sourdough starter has a name
”Don’t forget to like an subscribe” 

And the bodies fall
And the bodies fall
And the bodies fall

They fall in broad daylight
They fall during traffic stops
They fall outside corner stores
They fall holding cell phones mistaken for guns
They fall holding nothing at all

We watch.
We scroll.
We forget by morning.

Until we can’t anymore.
Until it’s our cousin, our coworker, our friend.
Until the van is on our street.
Until we’re calculating the risk of being alive outside.

The bodies have always been falling.

We’re just now counting the ones that look like the people who thought they’d never be counted….white people.

And still…the world spins.

The market opens.
The ads play.
The content flows.

And the bodies fall.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​