Her conversations wrapped around hope like a Kentucky porch
dreams drenched in newly released fiction
she pinned her children’s dew to her shoulder pads to stand tall
convinced her eyes to swallow intuition.
She simmered her saucy sway to disappear in his abandonment
But the thunder crashed her calm
and streaked her breath wild and array like cheap paint.
She prayed she hadn’t just birthed her seventh child for the third time
as dubious matter surrounded her conversations with God
and gasps soiled her pillows.
I’m with you swaying
standing next to you during that moment of silence
seeking to find me in Martin Luther King, amongst Garvey, between the Panthers so I
collect afros and scraped down
heels from marching
surrounding myself with titties and thighs
cause I know I did something more in the movement than take notes and mix lemonade
Where’s my day? My stamp? My park? My street?
no building/no parade/no libraries
but I know the shoulders I stand on
and today is our day.
If I could take a moment and tell you how I still hated me after the
nights of building / and black power audio tapes
maybe you’ll understand
why I anchored your blues / and never questioned your intelligence.
Allow me to explain how being fitted your friend
meant cooking link sausages to connect us with nothing more than / flesh&bones
Ascension not attainable to neither one of us who recognized and loved
a good argument
some hot gossip.
My cotton pillow ironically enslaved my thoughts on what could have / should have
been said sorry
I stepped from the ship to walk the land. Girlfriends