Jackal

by Erin E. Adams

Danger for Black girls was different. It didn’t obey the boundaries of stories. For them, it was always real.

“Men have no loyalty.”

Being blind to color only makes you blind.

Myths are as much a part of the slipstream of Black life as joy. Yes, Black folks are masters of joy. Trauma isn’t the only thing carried in DNA. Blackness, like any Golden Fleece, is both a birthright and what lies at the end of a quest.

Many things hunt in the woods. Not just men and dogs. Some things just watch.

One drop in this country is all it takes. Being a Black girl is inhabiting a cruel riddle: Your beauty is denied but replicated. Your sexuality is controlled but desired. You take up too much space, but if you are too small, you are ripped apart. Despite the wash of it, that’s one thing you can always count on whiteness to do: destroy a threat.

She looked at me like I was her savior. I’ve been many things, but never that.

If you ever acquire a partner, be sure they love you more than you love them.

The simple tool with its hot lead wouldn’t kill me, but it would slow me down. I needed all my strength for what was to come. He couldn’t stop what was already in motion. Even in his reluctance, he did my bidding, maneuvering the strings in my plan.

“My father told me to keep a weapon on me at all times, ’cause it doesn’t take much for people to lose their humanity.”