I wrote these on my way to and from South Africa on the plane....


My privilege smacks me in the face every time you say you love my hair.

        Remind me everyday, cause i need it,

There are no coincidences.

        We spoke earlier, just a moment ago.

The only other black person in my science classes.

        You said, so matter-of-fact

                             This is good.

You need to do this because they see a piece of themselves in you...

                             More than me.

So I started saying how I feel.

It hurts that my pain does seem more real to them.

             I know this way,

grasping for both sides

             without ever reaching one

                             -or the other.

but you can cross over me.

I will take my time to lure both sides.

Just meet me halfway on this bridge called my back.

I didn't think I'd cry a second time.

Lungs too small for the situation.

"What do you think of Tutu?"

             he says, and we go...

Like I was made to bring you somewhere,

you are drawn to me

like moths to a light

             I am safe to you.

                              I am light.

You are my mother,

So I will take you where you need to go

My heart will remind you about your past

             Our past.

Loose locks whip in the wind,

your grin: brown... black... white...

             is right. It's all right.

I am Both-And

I am black-panther-fist-clenched...

                                      in pocket.

I am useless bleeding heart hippie yearning

for freedom from the man.

                               I am the man.

What do I deserve?

And not you, Tutu, you are beyond words

Remembering is what you do

and you AMPLIFY me.

         I am not heavy,

I've been lifted too high.

I will do my best to take this and use it,

          As God intended.

We are the gifts

we are the instruments

we are the trees that need to climb and stay rooted to the ground

         @the same time.

I will hold this spectrum hostage

         from leaf...

                                to root hair.

It's all about breathing... air

And it's as simple as not turning away

as doing what you say

And feeling it... really?

If I hold you accountable,

will you see that as love? ...eventually?

                          Do I?

I am prepared to go out there alone,

because I can't go home.

It doesn't exist yet,

Because you still resist yet.

I have no choice but to wait with you.

I have no choice but to wait with you.

I will love you in the meantime...

         whatever that means

My brown brother, who loved me

because I am beautiful...

and now sees me for more than I am

comforts me

and says...

'The woman behind us is sleeping with her mouth open and looks like a ghost.'

                                She is my mother.

****************************6 weeks later*****************************

If ever I doubt the intentionality of the universe (and the idea that everything happens for a reason, at the perfect time).

I need only read a book as a reminder.

I'm flying over Africa again on my way home.

The long way, and I wake up.

I felt it was the Congo, like the last time.... but that's just another feeling;

and i have a lot of those.

I look out the window of the plane and the sky is a light with stars.

Layers and layers... I've never seen this, not like this.

I'm angry that I hadn't.

It's so beautiful, like nothing I had ever seen.

The sky, multiplied.

Then I saw a cluster of lights from below

and thought it was the stars reflecting onto something

until I realized it was a city.

I kept staring, in disbelief.

The earth looked like the sky,

and the sky like the US at night.

light on top of light

I started sobbing.

When I settled i opened Zami by Audre Lorde

and every line feels familiar.

I sob more waves- from babbling brooke

to rip tide.

My heart is raw and I am Afraid to go away.

I've found pieces of my soul that were left behind long ago

and I know there is more, all over.

And I know that some is in books like this one...

and I cry more because I never knew about this

This isn't a literature book assigned in grade school

that you ignore but at least know is there for you.

Not for me...

I read those too,

searching

and only found shadows of myself.

This, Zami, this is me AMPLIFIED

So I cried that I never knew.

Why wouldn't they think to tell me?

I must pause at every page because

Im startled with certain similarities

Layers and layers... I've never read this, not like this.

My soul is scattered over the earth from every place i was stolen before

I see it in the streets of South Africa where beadwork is sold;

like I did in grade school

because I loved it

and thought it might help my mom.

I always loved beading, but thought it was a native thing.

Not only.

I saw my beadwork on the streets of South Africa, the same daisy chains.

I saw my ancients' work in a museum.

No one knew to tell me.

There were layers and layers of beads... I never knew.

I was here before, and no one knew to tell me.