#blackthoughts

I’m from cornbread,

From soul food and Sunday afternoons.

I’m from the old-school

From music laced with the trails of underground people

I am from Nana’s hum

From the disco ladies, and women a part of imaginations

I’m from laughter and inside jokes

From yo momma and you so...

I am from bedroom corner dreams

From dancing in the wings,

practicing eating my very own cupcake that would turn me pink.

I’m from the 80s, 90s, 2000s

From Pam and Cole, Rocawear jeans, and late-night TV comedy specials

I am from kicking it at night

Watching the pearl in the blue sea,

wishing I could catch a shooting diamond

I’m from what goes round’ comes round’

From Jesus knows my heart

I’m from the frame of having a soul saved

From Jesus walked on water and broke bread

I am from the shouts of believers

From the rhythm of claps and stomps that rumble within me.

My brain is a cabinet of memories,

I hold and fill,

Hold and fill, small flicks,

Those flicks become dreams,

Those dreams become stories,

When Angie Stone said:

I wish I didn’t miss you anymore.

She meant that shit.

When Jill Scott said:

You don’t know nothin’ bout love.

She meant that shit.

And when I said:

The fairytale of us is gone.

I meant that shit.

Note:

This isn’t the moment for your sorry’s inauthenticity.

This isn’t the moment where you dull your blade or sand your edges.

This isn’t the moment for you to dig pieces of my womanhood out the trash, though it would have been nice.

Hell, even this isn’t the moment for you to beg like Keith Sweat mid track.

THIS, yes this, is an eulogy to us.

To us,

The wooden ride was—tough while it lasted.

But what can I say?

we were taught struggle love was okay—

from the soul records— to our parents— to our neighbors.

I stand before you watching our dearly departed us wither into dust speckles searching for the moon.

I stand before you, with splintered hands and worked nerves as I recall the good times.

Not ours, but Al Green’s.

Somehow his voice has always been in the background.

A sultry growl playing on low,

so soft it resembles the beat of a heart.

Just a thump.

A pulse that was barely staying alive.

Us had no chance of survival,

too sick for too many years that’s what Grandma and nem’ say.

I stand before you on shaky ground.

As the casket is lowered and the expectations fade away.

Remember,

This isn’t the moment for water works or the chance to revive dead leaves.

Leave your flowers,

grieve the lost of a half no longer holding on,

watch the hole of love fill with dirt.

THIS is the moment where the text stop coming,

the concern fades away,

and the apologies stop having meaning.

THIS is the moment the mourning of us begins, an us that was never alive at birth.

When Jill said:

Love burned me raw.

She meant that shit.

When Angie said:

Looking at life through the glass you shattered.

She meant that shit.

When I say:

Empathy can no longer replace love.

I mean that shit.

Sing to me honey, with Ella Fitzgerald sweetener 

Love me powerfully honey, rock me steady like Aretha.

Be kind to me; it's as simple as Sam Cook's Security. 

Dance for me, with me, and around me.

My feet need to tap dance on the moonlight of what I've known as love.

Let me move Whitney.

I want to be bold enough to transfer this house of gravel to a home of serenity.

I will speak Luther.

As I get older, I finally realize why my mother and grandmother are mesmerized by this song.

You ever just hear something and start crying?