I write about my blackness as a meditative practice. A means of survival and celebration. To bring the foundational elements of myself, up and out, like water from a lawn sprinkler. A blackness that disappears if you try to possess it, one that sits on your window sill like a quizzical sparrow. A blackness that…
You Black, sing like you mean it.
The stream of all of it was there. Flowing like a stream or perhaps the tears of my inner goddess, forbidden, cryptic, yet flowing with healing energy. I ran naked through the woods. Was I free? Were there dogs barking? Was the crackling underneath my feet my own. Or were they slave catchers? Slave catchers….