Grief has a way of swallowing you up at the most inconvenient times. I choose to write until I can breath again.
…you brought that everythingness…
detroit church girl
detroit church girl, she made this world bow she is my mama my auntie Mizz Hattie down the street she worked her ass off and when you needed her she stopped and picked you up detroit church girl we renamed Queen she gave us ourselves in big lights and ball gowns told us to stop…
… she who gave me the words that crafted this story…
how do you bury god?
She created me. You see.
She created me. Writing me on paper between cardboard covers. She made me real.
grief, also rises
death doesn’t play fair and it’s sister, grief, is treacherous as well. they can arrive on the most ordinary day and twist your world in very unordinary ways. my father use to tell me that death is nothing but a circle. and if i were to looked at it i would see it as a continuation not an end. my father was also a poet. he didn’t have any words for grief other than to say, ‘it’s a mutha phucka.’ which is the greatest truth he ever imparted.
where the bridge called my back bends
in the tenets of sexism there lies one essential lie – women are less than. every time a woman no matter her color, creed, religion, or bank account balance pushes back she is declared even more loudly to be – less than.
in quicksand i work, this snake’s head my only shovel
life as a social worker can be arduous. there are entire seasons when you feel as if you aren’t taking a single step forward with any project you are working on. it’s life in quicksand and you only have a snake’s head to pull yourself and the people around you out.
an epidemic made for television
i was instantly transported to the time when i was green and innocent and full of vigor and passion about every child having a chance and providing a chance for every child. not much has changed for me on that note since then other than the names of the demons and other things that go bump in the night that i fight.
a self-care: a “new” anthem
30 days ago i decided to accept a challenge to write a poem everyday for 31 days. it’s promise i kept mostly because i’m ornery and secondly because it gave me a chance to explore my first love – the written word. here i am at the end of the challenge, grateful for the journey and ready to dive in to where this awakening will lead me next.