Mugshot of Assata Shakur, April 1971 by Caitlin Johnson
"Zero fucks uncovered by the clamoring flash."
CAITLIN JOHNSON
Mugshot of Assata Shakur, April 1971
I love the way this mugshot fails
to capture any part of you
that matters—no smile, eyes
as if nothing, chin up straight
and zero fucks uncovered
by the clamoring flash
that claps over you again, again.
I love the way this mugshot fails
to touch you at all—free despite
the State’s say-so, despite
the numinous omen of bad
metal, despite the warrant
of unending cruelty—free to go
anywhere, anywhere but home.
Like the word "offices" in the last line of Robert Hayden's "Those Winter Sundays," the word "warrant" in this amazing poem is very powerful: it draws a lot of energy into the poem from beyond the immediate context -- condemning the frame of law or officialdom that the subject (Shakur) transcends.
Love this compressed jail cell of a poem. Well done, Caitlin Johnson!