On the horizon
In all its many forms
Within reach and she tastes like love.
She feels like justice.
She sounds like laughter and Black girls singing.
She smells like cooked food soul rich with care and tenderness.
She looks like sons growing stronger as they run, happy as they go because they are free.
Black Joy tastes like rest on the lake when morning dew falls fresh on the nostrils and releases its pure, cool.
She feels like soil on owned land between fingers and under nailbeds that drop seeds into fertility waiting to bloom in summer glow
She sounds like family gathering after a long hiatus between hugs.
She looks like her mothers’ daughters growing stronger as they run, happy, as they go because they are free.