"Not at Fault Benevolent Soul"
"Deeper and more painful than his belated concern for Denver or Sethe… was the memory of Baby Suggs– the mountain to his sky. It was the memory of her and the honor that was her due that made him walk straight-necked into the yard of 124…”
Toni Morrison, Beloved, pg. 199.
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Baby Suggs, holy,
What would it be like if you were still here? The community that you built abandoned you, but ever since you’ve left, it’s all gone so wrong. That already-crawling? baby had so much potential- a human life. A child of your descent, free of pain, torture, and suffering, but then they came back, looking for their property.
That already-crawling? baby, so smart and clever, crossing the Hudson to a better future. How happy you must have been when you first laid eyes on her. Your people are robbed of their humanity. The gift of life, gone in only twenty-eight days. It was then that you went away, before you left for good. I can’t help but think: “how much more manageable it would be if Baby Suggs, holy, were still here?”
Your daughter did what she felt she needed to, so that her beloved didn’t have to suffer the way she did, but that broke you. Baby Suggs, holy, so wise and compassionate, forced to retreat to rainbows. Why is the world so dark?
If only you were still here. You could see Denver mature, you could help Sethe back up. Your presence, even the thought of you, is inspiring. Now that you’re gone, there is nobody left with heart.
Did you think that it was your fault? A lovely banquet for the people, a celebration of life, both new and returning. They thought that it was selfish. The alarm bell was never signaled. Marching on bluestone, the schoolteachers have taken everything.
"A Man to be, On the Run"
"Better ask Paul D," she said.
“Can’t locate him,” said Stamp…
Toni Morrison, Beloved, pg. 218.
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Paul D,
A man on the run, aimless and desperate.
Your tobacco tin is full and your heart is severed.
You run until there is nothing left to run back to.
“Nothing left to see or do.”
Do you love her?
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Everything was looking up!
A day at the carnival.
There She was
Are you even a man at all?
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A man without face, shaken and disturbed.
Your story is sorrowful.
You didn’t know what she had done.
Filled with a baby’s venom,
It took a man to dispel it.
Are you even a man at all?
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How could she have done that?
She approaches you, and you give in.
Did you tell her the truth?
Are you even a man at all?
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How could she have done that?
Your tobacco tin is empty and your heart is severed.
Are you even a man at all?
.
How could she have done that?
You run away from the woman you love.
A man on the run, aimless and desperate.
Is he even a man at all?
"A Mother's Love, Lost"
"She left me."
"Aw girl. Don't cry."
"She was my best thing."
Toni Morrison, Beloved, pg. 321.
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Sethe,
A mother and a warrior.
Made fierce from the struggle, yet so distraught.
You laid down your sword and shield.
You’re collapsing, Sethe. You can’t go yet.
She still needs you. You have to get up.
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I know what you’ve done.
You did what you had to do, yet it will always follow you home.
You fight the memories. She was yours.
She was your best thing. She wasn’t yours.
Denver still needs you.
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“If I hadn’t killed her, she would have died…”
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A decision only a mother could make.
A mothers love.
So much has been taken.
So much is left!
She’s growing up.
The headstone is placed.
The name is on the face!
Pink motifs.
He’s going to be there for you.
He won’t let you die on him.
Don’t die on him!
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Beloved, Beloved, Beloved.
She was your beloved, but it wasn’t yours.
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Sethe,
Mother of a pleading child.
You’ve been strong for so long.
Can you hold on?
You need to move on. You can’t move on.
They took everything from you.
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Sethe, your child needs you.
There needs to be a tomorrow.
Paul D and Denver are going to care for you.
They both still need you.
You can stay together in this.
Forget it like a bad dream.
Can you ever truly forget it?
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She doesn’t understand what you did for her.
She made the worst out of you.
She gave you back everything you ever wanted.
She took away everything that you were.
She took away everything that could have been.
I will never understand what you have been through.
There will always be someone you can turn to.
She burned her.
She burned you.
She disregarded her.
She demanded you.
She smashed the plates.
She chased him away.
Pink motifs, a mother’s love.
She swelled up.
She took you down.
Your daughter is growing, she still needs you.
The people heard.
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She left you.
Can you leave Her?
Can you leave her?
"A Daughter's Spirit, Blossoming"
"Now she is running into the faces of the people out there, joining them and leaving Beloved behind."
Toni Morrison, Beloved, pg. 308.
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Denver,
You’ve done so well.
Your mother needed help.
Brave steps off the edge of the world.
Surely you would die?
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You thought that she was a sister-
More than that.
But then she hurt her.
She chased him away.
A venom cut throat.
They left you out.
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Sethe and Beloved.
Who is Denver?
One day you were playing on the ice,
And then you had to fight.
Sethe needs you.
Denver, it’s time to fight.
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It all seemed so dark out there.
Maybe everything will be alright.
Get food on the table.
Find someone who can help you.
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Your mother didn’t like to share.
Oh, the things that she went through.
You were hidden away for so long.
So much potential.
Locked away in spiteful.
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124 was quiet.
Your mother’s flesh was running thin.
Denver, It’s time to show them who you are.
You found someone who can help you!
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It must have been hard for you.
A step into the dark.
Sethe is running out of things to give.
She’s running out of time.
Denver, you were so brave.
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They marched to the house.
The voices came together.
She disappeared-
Footsteps in the sand.
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The outside air feels nice, doesn’t it?
Miss Bodwin says you could go to Oberlin.
What’s your opinion?
Denver, you’ve done so well.
"Sweet Home Chamomile"
“All of it is now there will never be a time when I am not crouching and watching others who are crouching too I am always crouching the man on my face is dead…”
Toni Morrison, Beloved, pg. 247.
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To the narrator of Beloved,
This is not your story to tell,
But that of sixty million and more.
Crouching on the ships, in unending despair.
For a mother to end the life of her child,
Is there much worse to endure?
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What is it that you see?
There’s still so much more to tell.
Would you keep on telling?
Whatever happened to poor Halle?
We never heard back from him.
How’s Amy Denver?
Did she ever make it to Boston?
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What happened to Sethe,
and Paul D, too?
Did they make it through together?
Was there a tomorrow?
Could they really forget her like a bad dream?
There’s still so much more to tell.
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“Although she has claim, she is not claimed. In the place where long grass opens, the girl who waited to be loved and cry shame erupts into her separate parts, to make it easy for the chewing laughter to swallow her all away.”
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Chamomile, sitting on the tongue of the damned.
Sweet Home.
Reminiscing on the past,
Sap, sweet, sopped onto sorrows,
Washing it away,
Blocking it off.
Fire and brimstone, Pestilence.
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A girl wanting to be loved
Crawling.
Fragile.
The chewing laughter eats her.
Will she ever be more than property to them?
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Her price, greater than his.
His price, never forgotten.
Sweet Home Chamomile.
"A Collective Past"
"Footprints in the Sand"
“A hill of black people, falling. And above them all, rising from his place with a whip in his hand, the man without skin, looking. He is looking at her.”
Toni Morrison, Beloved, pg. 308.
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Beloved,
Born over the water,
Free from the clouds.
A hope for the future,
Crawling so soon.
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Twenty-eight days of life, what a blessing.
A mother’s daughter, yet never named.
The men without skin, surely this would not be your life.
Far too soon, it was taken.
Gone into the sea.
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Born out of the water,
Beloved. Once more.
Where are those diamond earrings?
A past locked away.
“It was not a story to pass on.”
You can finally be with her, a mother’s love.
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Twenty-nine days and counting.
You are her Beloved, nothing will take her away from you.
It is just you and her, no distractions.
You are finally, free.
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Chains and whips.
Shackles to their skin.
Shackles of their skin.
Your world is black and white.
White over black.
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The schoolteacher is looking for you.
Your existence is forbidden.
Bodies falling, rising over the crowd
The men without skin,
They take it once more.
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A life suppressed.
The story is all too real,
Taken away from you.
Given back.
Gone once more.
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Bodies across the Atlantic.
Bodies crouching.
Born out of the water.
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Footsteps in the sand.
One could put their foot down, and it fits.
A collective past.
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Never free.
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Dearly Beloved.
Credits:
Helen Wilmer - Photographer