There were no legal protections against the rape of enslaved Black women or enslaved Black men.
That was Sunday. The village. I was a baby sugared
with indulgence. Fat and black-haired. Those years
of his unfolding wallet and the ongoing thorn
of origin.
I see how my whole life has been a dream,
one she built for me from the ground up,
her daughter, my mother the axe, beautiful
tool with which she shaped me, a house
much like the one she lived in, but smaller
A punishment for the arrogance of thinking my mission in life was to explain things to people.
Watched the movie Hidden Figures (when the first black women worked in the Nasa space program) and almost cried. My father was a rocket scientist, something I didn’t realize until his brain was already gone to Alzheimer’s.
You stood before me, brushing your long hair,
stroke after stroke in the astonished air
while you talked of nothing, and I sipped my drink.
The task now is not to burn brighter or faster, but to build the collective capacity to withstand what’s coming.
O Love, dark animal,
With your strangeness go
Like any freak or clown:
Appease the child in her
Because she is alone
In a Hostile United States
…he stops in front of you,
extends his hand and says,
“Satch Paige is my name.”
I have memories of the apartheid signs on all the restaurants and public facilities. A white person who grew up in the area at that time recently corrected me: “Those weren’t apartheid signs, those were Jim Crow signs.”
She might have clung to her freedom
to live among leaves a while longer,
in paradise not quite lost.
Members of the American Indian Movement and the Many Shields Warrior Society are patrolling the streets of Minneapolis.
No one can walk here,
save shy deer, save wind and rain,
save those invisible wings
that can gently lift the whole garden
up to the constellations.