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Wednesday, March 30, 2022

Tradition: A Perilous Age inside a Black Girl’s Life

A chill pricks my heart when I read the name

Of the third enslaved girl to convey a child at number of years fifteen,

Conception exist fond of clockwork proclaimed.

Some gossip to clasp in charge of for declaring earliest blood:

Ovulation oblique invitation on the plantation.

I stop to record the names of the nascent enslaved

And the numerous who have since taken the bodies of black women,

Bending them to the will of money, science, nothing.

A spirit with every one other accompanied by body dubbed commodity, chattel, property.

I learned something of this game

In a basement to an Isley Brothers’ jam,

No warning beyond

Then hardness ground into a hip

Beneath some dude’s double-knits.

Wanting to sprint nevertheless pinned by a prize holding mine

In a roomful of swaying bodies with every one other accompanied by perspiration shine

Until the prayed-for extremity to that innocence-usurping time.

Something’s cuisine inside the kitchen with every one other accompanied by inside the fields,

It’s bubbling up babies, sol scorching brow with every one other accompanied by hands.

Pick me a wonder, pick me a dream, how numerous hands

Does it lay clasp of to build heaven, a dearth of freedom

In this godforsaken land.

#Living #Sorrow & Grieving #The Body #Youth #Relationships #Men & Women #Social Commentaries #Gender & Sexuality #History & Politics #Race & Ethnicity

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Truth hurts! Nothing is perfect, life is messy. Relationship are complex. Outcomes are uncertain, people are irrational.


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