This is a snippet of the poem, “A Note on Time“. The entire poem can be found in my book, Pocket Honey, Wind & Hips and I wrote it actually for both of my parents.
“She received the fruit of the rain at the beginning of God’s mouth
and rubbed her belly for a sense of serendipity
you can’t tell me she ain’t fierce the way she always
embarrass you with the truth.”
“Women of warrior blood
a ritual of stares for superiority
and one word never needs to be spoken
It’s in her eyes
that reflect a promised lake of fire
to toss her divided soul
that pulls at her like a chariot with two head strong horses.”
“The Gods huddle over your recipes trying to decipher your chicken soup.”
“It don’t matter if I as 10 or 2, you still sat me down and told me the truth.”
Yellow plus blue makes green
Like blood on blue makes
times in these streets
even meaner when the oath
is covered and smothered to protect promotions and pension plans
instead of people’s freedom and hard worked land
You can get a round of drinks from co-workers
faster than the truth
or you might have better luck tracing my family tree
before the start of slavery
and that is practically impossible
so you keep asking
you keep tracing
you keep pacing with the sun’s shadows
and euphoric mist
while these bodies keep transitioning
energy moving on
but the control and power staying the same
ssssstuck on justice
a yearning that repeats like a speech impediment.
Got me / living life like a suicide note found
every morning at 7a.m.
can’t remember anything else but staying steady,
ready / like mother’s equipping
their children with breakfast bars backpacks and dash cams
bang! bang! bang! bang!
statue of liberty standing pretty holding a flame
that’s never lit my community
liberty bell never rang loud enough to level the playing field
So I’ll keep my ear to the streets and listen for the drums.
read the sweaty faces of over-worked people like /maps
interpret the colors in the swaying skirts
and the signals from framed smoke flowing from barbq pits
grant me the serenity to courageously stand oak tree tall and the wisdom to put a plan into action
I’m getting the last word!
Me against the world
Yellow plus blue makes green.
Like blood on blue makes /
times in these streets.
(performed by Danielle Mone Truitt of “Rebel“)
Click here for the full video performance of “bang, bang” on BET.com
Tune in Tuesday at 10pm EST for an all new episode of REBEL.
If I could rename her, I would call her Oya. She brought the rain/the storm/the thunder and lightening my heart needed.
I thought my womb would stretch/hips expand/body open for all my children to breath life.
I never imagined my teacher would come to me, age 11/a reflection of my brokenness/an unrelenting stare/unyielding hunger to be whole.
There was no escaping. A time to heal had come, and so began the cycle of faith and fear.
I never imagined my daughter as a savior. There would be nothing immaculate about her conception. How I became a mother would be by birth. But here she is, no marks to prove my body made room for her/to prove to my soul was given time to prepare for her. But she is here, breathing in all of my dreams as if I whispered them to her as she tossed and turned in my body.
She is a sphinx. The fire burns but never destroys. I have witnessed her sift through her own ashes at least three times. For that, I do not take credit. I am only here to remind her she has been resurrected before.
I relish in every raindrop/vigilant through every storm/faithful when the lightening strikes because I know rebirth is on the other side. She has taught me to bury the dead/to forgive myself. It is her grace I am most grateful for/her willingness to allow me to grow/to always allow me to hold her. Even in the darkest hours, when our arms can’t seem to stretch around our bodies, I hold her in my heart/in my prayers. I carry her like child in womb in my soul.
“We’re girls, women, human, not a burden.”
“Pretty little baby, I have raised you like a woman… when you see the crocodiles you will come to your mother and we will laugh at them.”