Author: Paige Vaccaro

Have You Ever Loved a Black Man?

Have you ever loved a Black man? Maybe if you have You too can understand How a cop with a gun in his hand Is a threat to life and liberty To every pursuit of happiness No man on Earth deserves less   Have you ever loved a Black man? Then you know we can not And will not be free Until the men we love Get to fulfill a destiny Not trapped behind bars Or handcuffed and stuffed Into police cars   Have you ever loved a Black man? Who deserves life Without parole To live free from...

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Why I Didn’t Report

Why I didn’t report. Why I wish I did. Why I would testify… if I saw my attacker was nominated as a Supreme Court Justice.   Rutgers University 2001   It was my senior year and I lived off campus with two other roommates. We weren’t huge party people, all of us got good grades and went on to graduate and have solid careers. (Not that any of that really matters to the story.) Our favorite local bar was one block away, so we would walk down for drinks on weekend nights and sometimes for Happy Hour. I turned 21 that year, so drinking at a bar felt cool and fun, though our favorite part was the jukebox. Weezer, The Cars, Barry White, Stevie Wonder…we sang our hearts out.   Quickly we earned status as “regulars” and got to know some of the bartenders. One in particular was older than us, probably pushing 40, stood out because he was so friendly and often gave us drinks for free after we had paid for one or two. I don’t remember his name, but I still remember his face.   One night, my roommate headed home early. I told her I’d be fine…it was only a one block walk. After she left, the bartender started talking to me more and more. It didn’t take long for me to have a few...

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“So you love her hair…” a poem by Paige Vaccaro

So you love her hair, eh? Wild and free Curls defying gravity You love how they bounce When she walks So full of cuteness Every ounce You love her light eyes  And how they pop  Against the backdrop  Of her caramel skin She’s so beautiful  Your pockets would be so full  You say If she would model  For Old Navy Or some agency Willing to pay For her variety Of beauty You love her hair, eh? That’s what you say But can you see The legacy  Of slavery  Buried in her skin Can you feel the heat  Of prejudice...

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