A Covering
being a black woman
feels like god’s favor
a personal kind of hallelujah
it is knowing that i am both fire and rain
whenever i chose to be
however i choose to be it
black womanhood is mighty
and vast
a continuum of divinity
being a black woman is nothing short of glory.
If Black Woman Could Fly
If Black women could fly, the moon would tell us to give ourselves to God in the afterglow.
The ancestors would bind us together in gold.
It would be there, right before the sun slipped down, that we would relive our own
Births.
Creeping through the openings in the clouds, we could reimagine the fullness of our breath.
I’d like to think that was where the truth began,
in the upper reaches of the atmosphere,
above the horizon.
We could open it all up,
stretch it all out,
between soul cry and sensation,
echoing through the ribcage in purple light.
If Black women could fly we’d dip under the rain, we would vaporize into stardust, watch as the
shadows reincarnate themselves. We would find intimacy there, in the clouds, when they begin to
fall back into their tender motion and the sky ruptures, caught in the in-between.
We would know the time it takes for each droplet to reach its end,
to fall from the open sky and land wherever it is intended,
wherever it is needed.
Without it, we could not be. Without it, we could not understand.
Without it, we could not heal.
Without it, we could not nourish or love the world
whole again.
Black Woman
Black Woman
a well of ambition
a mirror of wisdom
an inheritance of dreams
may you know who you are
you are profoundly whole
the way your skin receives the sun
the way your hair is a rhythm
a holy conversation and a shared love
between aunties and mothers
may you walk in the cadence
of ancestral wisdom
may your abundant joy carry you through
rough waters
may you find time to exhale
may you show up fully and unapologetically
Society and Black Women
On both good and bad days, it feels amazing to be Black because we are able to look back at where we came from and appreciate where we are now.
Other races envy us for the color of our skin and physical features.
If only we knew how Black women are beautiful and important.. how talented and resourceful we are.
You are a Black woman.
You are enough.
Kind doesn’t mean you’re weak.
This is a sense of relief.
You’re successful, you’re needed.
And you are just as important.
Do not take what you have for granted.
You are more than what society defined you as.
This is how I would encourage Black women to see themselves.
This is my mantra as well.
A Mother’s Wish for Black Girls
Elle, Gabi and my sweet Dee
They will say you don't matter.
They will say you aren't enough.
They will try to erase your mind of the wisdom of Alice, Toni, Maya, June and bell.
They will do these things to cut you down
To keep you in your place.
But baby, my sweet baby girls
Remember always,
That it is in the knowing of your people that you will find liberation.
Remember, you are the daughters of Genel, the daughter of Sybil, the daughter of Gwendoline, and the daughter of Anne.
The universe finds rest in you.
You are more than magic, You are a wonder, You are light, You have value
And you deserve much more than this world could ever offer you.
Remember to live with audacity and do the things that make you feel free my babies.
All mama wants for each of you is to live whole lives that make you feel free.
Love, Mom.
Truths I Subscribe To
One of the hardest questions is where to begin asserting one's existence in the world. Truths I subscribe to are the fact that black women particularly, have yet to bask in a sound answer for the labor required to this hard query. Another is as Toni Morrison said, “The function of freedom is to free someone else.”
What does this mean to me? What can it mean for us? It is so important to create, nudge, push and even pull black and brown women into spaces where the wholeness of our being is acknowledged and honored. However, first to be able to do this, one must commit to curative work singularly with a willingness towards collective consciousness of protecting, elevating and celebrating our existence in a world that has been designed to extinguish us in uncountable ways.
I still struggle with solidifying my presence in the world, and yes, sometimes the masked insecurities of a little girl. And yet, I show up, in between and in, spaces I’ve been told I would never fit in.
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The Heaviest Power I Know
And as always, I knew then, I think
—not clearly—what I still know now
and I'm much more articulate about that.
The best thing I have to give anyone has got to come out of myself.
or it doesn't...you know
you can pick it up on the street, you can pick it up on Woolworths...right?
unless it is something that is anchored in the heaviest power I know
—and that is me.
Excerpt from an interview of Audre Lorde by Blanche Cook (1982)
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I Can Time Travel, And So Can You
I can time travel.
There are vehicles everywhere.
Pictures of my parents as children,
their eyes when they recite memories from their lives before me.
A 30-minute doggy paddle in the Caribbean Sea,
biting into one of Cousin Sharon's plantain tarts.
The texture of Chirimoya that my dad picked on his walk.
The swish of hips as the parade goes through Jamaicatown.
Celia Cruz in matrimony with the laughter of the drunk adults at the family function.
When Tia Dunia visits my seldom dreams.
The cracking open of a young coconut.
Looking at myself in the mirror.
I can time travel and so can you,
There are vehicles everywhere.
joy is your birthright.
Never forget,
the power you hold in being your full, authentic self.
You are as magical as the dreams that make you feel alive.
Deserving of every ounce of goodness that wants to find a home in your presence.
Resist the urge to deny yourself the pleasures of living a full and expansive life.
Lean into joy.
Let it guide you.
Let it free you,
from anything that makes you feel like you are unable to be the greatest expression of yourself.
You are joy personified.
You are the dream.
And most of all,
you are worthy.
Unmatched
You are unmatched,
with eyes deeper than the universe and skin of golden cacao.
You are majestic.
You don't need to share your smile with anyone.
Scowl on baby!
And who cares if your hair ain't slick back and edges laid?
Yo hair is flawless.
I love the switch of your walk
and the slang in yo talk.
You are original.
And I'm saying this passionately,
aggressively,
and loudly.
Because I need you to know,
you are worthy.
Period.
Everything I do is for Black Women
Everything I do is for black women.
I’ve been held so gently by black women.
My heart goes out to black women.
We fight so hard to be heard, but are never truly understood.
Our image is beaten down and broken, until we no longer recognize ourselves.
My work is made for black women. To share the love we deserve. To shift the perspective of ourselves. To honor the good, the truth and power in our own image.
I refuse to go forgotten.
Mirrors & Windows
I don't want any of them to ever say I never heard of that.
Now, what they do with it is on them.
But they will have heard that.
They will have heard the story, the whole story.
Because it is important. You can only love something that you know wholly.
Including oneself.
Including oneself.
Excerpt from Mirrors & Windows by Lucille Clifton (2001) . Former faculty Lucille Clifton and Sonia Sanchez read and discuss their work with fellow Eisa Davis.
Meditation: connection
We were created for connection.
Connection to ourselves, each other and the world.
As we begin this guided meditation, I invite you to find a position for your body that makes you feel most at ease.
Feel free to lie down, to sit or stand up.
As you settle, notice your breath.
Allow your eyes to soften or close.
As you breathe, know that this is your first point of connection.
Each breath is connected in an unending cycle of expansion and contraction.
Notice the coolness of the air as it enters your nose, and the warmth as it leaves your body.
Take the next few breaths to connect to this rich resource.
As you continue, a few more cycles of breath like this, allow your attention to run over your body.
Noticing the temperature in the room, feeling any places where your skin is in contact with skin is in contact with the air.
This is your second point of connection.
Your skin is constantly exchanging information, with the outside world, and then to your mind, your heart and your gut.
As you continue to breathe, notice what else your skin is connecting with.
For our final moments, revisit the flow of your breath, the coolness as the air enters your nostril, and the warmth as it leaves.
Feel the air on your skin, the connections your body is making with your mind, your heart and your gut.
Now return to the room, slowly.
Take a final deep breath.
Thank your body for all it does to connect you to your world.
As you open your eyes, may you be safe, may you be at peace.
May you be joyful and abundant.
Paper Dolls
I was never too keen on playing with baby
Dolls or Barbies
I didn't want to be white
Or a mother; broken hinged like my own
Stuffed in the back of your throat like a secret
When I was young I was obsessed
with paper dolls
Pages full of famous black women
I would sit on the creaky wooden floor,
Freeing them from the spine
I loved to attach the golden banana skirt
to Josephine Baker
when she was in a dancing mood
Her body swayed in the wind like a chime
Her smile inviting and alluring
I would shimmy her across my window sill
How her feet would sometimes prick my finger
I would suck the blood from paper cuts
This was the caution of womanhood
There was something so seductive about our pain
Josephine moved a lot like my mother
Delicate bones and bold tongue
All origami woman; bending backbone
We are more flexible than you think
How she would fold under the sound
of my stepfather’s voice
He knew just how to rip into her until she shred
Like confetti celebrating her fragments
And they say black women aren’t fragile
But you didn’t see how easily Josephine could tear
How many pieces of her I could make
I wondered how a woman dresses without a reflection
What those pages meant 30 years ago
Being able to hold all these black women in your hands
I believed in black magic. That’s what I called my bones
Covering the bewitchment with the different skins
Wearing my vulnerability
like the sheer shimmer of a costume
On the days I feel most feminine
my strength hangs in the back of a closet
As I fasten on the cloak of sensitivity
Peel back the layers
I can cry and still feel stunning
Have you ever seen a black woman
paper mache herself back together?
I don’t have to be all brash
and brazen to be noticed
I can strut weightless through this life
Like my name was Josephine Baker
Like I was a woman
who wore her emotions like a birthmark
Like self-care was taught
on the floors of a brownstone in Brooklyn
where a brown baby girl played
with the mahogany mothers of history
Like I was a Corinne Bailey Rae lyric
“Cut me out like a paper doll”
Free me from the spine
