Down by the river, in your high rise (I’m not the one)

You say that I should take you as an example of what not to do in life. Yet here you are, living on Riverside Drive in a landmarked luxury apartment building you say is only rented. You say you don’t have consistent work or significant savings. I truly wonder how you’ve been able to pull all of this off—my short-sighted guess is that it’s your monthly retirement check from the government and quarterly payouts from a possible trust fund. You say you were once a lawyer and that you hated yourself and the work. It was the conundrum of knowing your heart lay elsewhere but also wanting to satisfy your desire for money and status. Your title kept you cemented to your cubicle and I’m sure you cried many times about it. You show me a picture of your deceased father on your living room TV table, lamenting the things you didn’t get to say to him, in his most cancerous days, about your mother. You speak about leveling the playing field for all women, yet you sit in front of me insisting I shouldn’t vote for Bernie Sanders because he hasn’t had the same level of success passing legislation as Elizabeth Warren. 

You tell me that Donald Trump will not be impeached because Democrats simply don’t have the votes. In the same breath, you proceed to criticize Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, a Latina congresswoman, for being outspoken about impeaching him. You pit her up against Warren, another woman like you, precisely because you are incredibly uncomfortable and admittedly scared. Alexandria could run laps around you — don’t get me or you twisted. Would you believe me if I told you I look up to her?

Your discomfort and projected negativity is a result of feeling that power is slipping from the hands of landed, white men and women in a country that wasn’t yours, or ours, to begin with. I assure you that this power is and will continue slipping from your hands, but don’t pass me your baggage. Lay it elsewhere, far away from my deep waters and the soil I pray continues to sustain me and the communities you choose not to see. Out your two windows and down by the river you go.


  1. “I assure you that this power is and will continue slipping from your hands, but don’t pass me your baggage”…. so powerful and beautifully written!

    Liked by 1 person

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