Weekly Question: On the anniversary of Emmett Till's murder, author Brittany N. Williams asks, 'What moment of tragedy would you heal with an imagined casual encounter?'
Weekly Question: On the anniversary of Emmett Till's murder, author Brittany N. Williams asks, 'What moment of tragedy would you heal with an imagined casual encounter?'
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Earlier this year, Brittany N. Williams, author of THAT SELF-SAME METAL, introduced me to a stunning poem by Eve L. Ewingabout Emmett Till(1941-1955). As today, August 28th, is the anniversary of his brutal murder, I’ve asked her to introduce you to the poem here and offer up this week’s question thread. Because of the importance of the subject matter, I’m leaving this thread open to both paid and free subscribers, including the comments section.
It’s a core function of grief to infuse heartbreak into the mundane: driving past a certain street, that right(wrong) song on the radio, the sudden punch of a memory in the aisle of a store. It’s a casual hit of devastation. An erratic pain that waxes and wanes in an unsteady discord and never disappears. But, even through the wounds, how much sweeter do these mundane memories taste when paired with bitter heartbreak? What melancholy joy can be found while doing something as simple and unremarkable as grocery shopping? How can a casual encounter in the produce aisle both hurt and heal a grief that spans the nation?
Eve L. Ewing’s poem “I saw Emmett Till this week at the grocery store” brings that question to heart. In it, the poet recounts running into an adult Till buying plums and a candy bar before they chat about the weather in the way that neighbor-friends do. The piece is deceptive in its relaxed tone, hinting at the truth of Till’s death even as it unveils a happier possibility, the man this fourteen-year-old might’ve become if he’d survived that tragic August day in 1955. It’s grief exorcised by a lie born from love in direct contrast to the hate-birthed lie that murdered an innocent child.
What moment of tragedy would you heal with such an imagined casual encounter?
I saw Emmett Till this week at the grocery store
By Eve L. Ewing
looking over the plums, one by one lifting each to his eyes and turning it slowly, a little earth, checking the smooth skin for pockmarks and rot, or signs of unkind days or people, then sliding them gently into the plastic. whistling softly, reaching with a slim, woolen arm into the cart, he first balanced them over the wire before realizing the danger of bruising and lifting them back out, cradling them in the crook of his elbow until something harder could take that bottom space. I knew him from his hat, one of those fine porkpie numbers they used to sell on Roosevelt Road. it had lost its feather but he had carefully folded a dollar bill and slid it between the ribbon and the felt and it stood at attention. he wore his money. upright and strong, he was already to the checkout by the time I caught up with him. I called out his name and he spun like a dancer, candy bar in hand, looked at me quizzically for a moment before remembering my face. he smiled. well hello young lady hello, so chilly today should have worn my warm coat like you yes so cool for August in Chicago how are things going for you oh he sighed and put the candy on the belt it goes, it goes.
This is such a haunting question. It’s stuck with me ever since Brittany emailed it to me. There are so many people, so many events, so many moments I would like to erase from history and replace with such a casual encounter as Eve L. Ewing suggests in her stunning poem. My first reaction was Sam Cooke, who was murdered as a young man; it wasn’t so much that I imagined meeting him in a shop as Ewing does with an older Till as I immediately thought of what it would feel like to react to an older Cooke song coming on the radio today, one that reacted to the late-sixties or the seventies. But I have two children and one of the reasons my family lives overseas with them is because of America’s gun violence. I still cannot shake the horror of Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas and the cowardice of the cops who let those children be butchered while they waited outside. And so my answer is this:
I’d reimagine a visit to Robb Elementary several years after the police had done their jobs and stormed the school. I would enter past the memorial that honors the two cops who died stopping the shooter, paying it very little mind because the tragedy would’ve already become the past by then. And I would greet students, the ones who should still be here, and talk to them about writing, about telling stories, about the possibility of them becoming storytellers themselves one day, too, and then I would leave and drive away and forget I was ever there to begin with because it was such an unremarkable school in such an unremarkable part of the country.
Yeah. My mom died before my 1st birthday & I lost my closest aunt a couple years ago to cancer. I think mine would be them helping pit away NY son's laundry. We'd weed through the stuff that's too small and laugh about our favorite outfits on him. And they'd each have something they saw in the store that they just HAD to buy him. Just that moment of shared motherhood would be my choice.
That's lovely, Brittany. Thank you for sharing it. It's remarkable how it really is the most mundane of memories that stick with us, even in fantasy. I don't need to imagine my dead father telling me important things, such as how proud he is of me. I just want to watch him barbecuing chicken on the grill in his backyard.
Have you seen the film YESTERDAY? Writer-director Richard Curtis imagined a timeline where he wasn't murdered. In fact, never even became a Beatle. I don't want to give it away, if you've not seen...
I have...reluctantly, at the time. I'm not a fan of the filmmaker's but, as a Beatles fan, I did find myself enjoying this specific film more than I expected. The Lennon twist was satisfying.
This is such a haunting question. It’s stuck with me ever since Brittany emailed it to me. There are so many people, so many events, so many moments I would like to erase from history and replace with such a casual encounter as Eve L. Ewing suggests in her stunning poem. My first reaction was Sam Cooke, who was murdered as a young man; it wasn’t so much that I imagined meeting him in a shop as Ewing does with an older Till as I immediately thought of what it would feel like to react to an older Cooke song coming on the radio today, one that reacted to the late-sixties or the seventies. But I have two children and one of the reasons my family lives overseas with them is because of America’s gun violence. I still cannot shake the horror of Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas and the cowardice of the cops who let those children be butchered while they waited outside. And so my answer is this:
I’d reimagine a visit to Robb Elementary several years after the police had done their jobs and stormed the school. I would enter past the memorial that honors the two cops who died stopping the shooter, paying it very little mind because the tragedy would’ve already become the past by then. And I would greet students, the ones who should still be here, and talk to them about writing, about telling stories, about the possibility of them becoming storytellers themselves one day, too, and then I would leave and drive away and forget I was ever there to begin with because it was such an unremarkable school in such an unremarkable part of the country.
This is horrifying and beautiful. What is wrong with Americans that they permit this to keep happening?
Brittany, can I ask what moment of tragedy you would heal with a casual encounter such as the one in Ewing's poem?
Yeah. My mom died before my 1st birthday & I lost my closest aunt a couple years ago to cancer. I think mine would be them helping pit away NY son's laundry. We'd weed through the stuff that's too small and laugh about our favorite outfits on him. And they'd each have something they saw in the store that they just HAD to buy him. Just that moment of shared motherhood would be my choice.
That's lovely, Brittany. Thank you for sharing it. It's remarkable how it really is the most mundane of memories that stick with us, even in fantasy. I don't need to imagine my dead father telling me important things, such as how proud he is of me. I just want to watch him barbecuing chicken on the grill in his backyard.
I love that
It's a bit predictable, but I would say John Lennon. I've missed him terribly.
Have you seen the film YESTERDAY? Writer-director Richard Curtis imagined a timeline where he wasn't murdered. In fact, never even became a Beatle. I don't want to give it away, if you've not seen...
I have...reluctantly, at the time. I'm not a fan of the filmmaker's but, as a Beatles fan, I did find myself enjoying this specific film more than I expected. The Lennon twist was satisfying.