Poem from the Family of Quinnyon Wimberly

Quinnyon Wimberly Died in the Hard Rock Hotel

On Oct. 12, the Hard Rock Hotel under construction collapsed, killing three workers and injuring dozens more. Anthony Magrette, Quinnyon Wimberly, and Jose Ponce Arreola were murdered by corporate greed. Horrendously, three months later, two of their bodies are still in the ruins of the toppled building. Longtime resident and metal worker Delmer Joel Ramirez Palma was illegally deported to Honduras to prevent him from testifying about the conditions that led to the collapse. Ramirez witnessed that workers had reported hazards to the bosses who continued the work anyway. The city has done nothing.

Quinnyon & Jose:
The Forgotten Ones Not Recovered
By Tommie Wimberly, Sr.
Two hard working men supporting their families
Making an honest living with dignity
Went to work one Sunday cause of loyalty
Working inside of an unstable building that collapsed because of negligence
caused fatal injury

Two men dedicated to the careers they possessed
Who deserve honor from the people their talented hands have blessed
Left their homes one morning not knowing they would not return
Now lost under rubble and the city leaders claim they are concerned
Everyday saying recovery is their “number one priority”
As each day passes by it seems recovery
Is just talk
No action. No accountability.

Another week has passed and the talk of recovering the bodies is fading away
Family and friends are wondering:
“will this be the search and recovery day?”
Waiting for officials very patiently
To recover the remains of those hard-working citizens
who deserve a proper burial with dignity

I would like to apologize for the injustice that happened to you all
For working inside an environment that caused those floors and walls to fall.

See Me

By Imanee Magee

Some say the blacker the berry,
the sweeter the juice.
Well from a cop’s point of view
I’m a dangerous hue.
This black skin that I’m in is a sin to
these blue men
Hiding fear of our unity behind the
law of impunity
The TV sees me as a flea to society-
Civil rights crippled with my brittle
grip on these skittles,
Black dung slung in the rung of mass
incarceration,
5 years young amongst the sun and
he’s stung in the lung- “Hold my tongue?”
I’m done.
This target branded on my back
Burns like the bullet shot through my
soul for being Black.
With my people under attack,
how can I not fear for my soul?
I can barely be whole trying to fit in
massa’s mold
The end is coming near.
I can hear it, ringing through these
streets
Cries from mamas burying their
babies under bed sheets,
Juries freeing killers playing dress up
as police,
Brothers not coming home, what do I
even tell my niece?
What must I do for you to see my
humanity?
Must i bleed, must i plead, must i
concede?