Something happened when we were forced to be apart

We longed to be…

To be with

Each

Other

Differently and the same

Peering in

To 

Each 

Other’s

Lives

To check in

To make sure

That We were alright…

The poems I write are not really poetic in the traditional sense. Rhyme and meter mean less to me than cadence and pulse. My poems are like dances—some short, some a slow drag…all designed to move me, away from harm and into myself, my thoughts and wonderings…my wanderings…my salvation and my strength. My poems save me because they often provide a way for me to talk about history that I am learning or willing to reveal.

I think I have always written this way…errant and pithy, like the flute I used to play. 

Notes pushed out rather than strung together, staccato-like and sincere.

This poem is about Black joy unfolding like a dance or a choreopoem or a flower.

The outside

A recent movement

To the seed that still passes its DNA through time

Hundreds of years

No mutations

Nothing changed

But the size of the thorn