The Ethics of Being Allowed To Change

A three panel comic in teal, brown, and black ink.

Panel 1: 2001. Person one, with long black hair, stands at a table looking at a printed magazine: “Hey, I found a pretty major mistake in the new issue. You missed up the names of Mayfield and Leroy. Two black men, dude. Not cool.” Person two, with brown hair, in a wheelchair, puts hands to their face and responds: “Ugh. I finished layout at 3 AM. I can’t believe I did that.”

Panel 2: Person one gives side eye, with a frown and arms crossed, and says: “Yah. Bummer.”

Panel 3: 2018. A meeting with a sign on the wall that reads “NO NEW YOUTH JAIL”. Person with short hair says: “Welcome to tonight’s meeting! Let’s share our names, pronouns and access needs.” Person two, with brown hair, says: “I can start. I’m Sage. She/her pronouns. My access needs are met.” Person two has a series of thought bubble that read: “Ohhhhhh man. I remember her... What a mess! ...OK, that was a long time ago. Maybe she learned something from that? She is at this meeting a ! er all. Show’s commitment.”

Maisha Manson

Seen

There is a drum in our footsteps

In the resounding sound heard from our ancestors

I am from two midnight sheep and a community of wolves

From abuse that smells like love

From brilliance and fists worn resistance

Waves that crash me cradled, new ways of beauty

You are thunderstorm wildfire

Under your eyelid veil

Breathe for as long as you need

Take time to heal the parts of you that aren't ready to welcome the breeze

And allow yourself to compose a symphony in exhales