Here the healers have seen things, in the absence
of anaesthetic. War — bleeding onto wards, cutting 
limbs from words, leaving none to describe the pain 
needed to suffer the children; to decide who is salvageable; 
who will be seen in the blackouts. For them, to be called

Hero, feels like an ache; a dose of the unwanted : : Powers
of Black South Londoners, unafflicted by the sickle
cell genes of their parents, are being activated. This 
is the premise of Supacell — trending on Netflix. Jasmine

has the ability to heal, yet, no power to escape her
captors — deaf to her pleas — summoning her at will, 
to close wounds they have inflicted on her kin. Before 
the last episode there is a crisis : : On the way to help,

an ambulance is struck into silence. Red Crescent 
medics lie mangled — sickled cells in a blood vessel —
oxygen depleted. Testimonies rap my heart, pull me 
close to prayer, wondering: what superpower would I ask

for? I wish I qualified. Instead, I’m turned away by the sickly 
swish of a stolen sickle — recklessly wielded by recreants — unable
to separate chaff from wheat. In the killing fields, they play gods,
deafened by ego, flexing beneath the Reaper’s feet.

Curtis Brown is a poet and multi-disciplinary artist based in London, published in Ink, Sweat and Tears, Under the Radar, The Caribbean Writer etc. His poetry films have been selected for several international film festivals.