The same thing I am praised for, is the same thing people try to snatch me for—this thing I do with these 26 letters.
In the face of abject crazy which is the current world, I would be remiss in my duties as a writer not to speak or record it. When I decided to lean into writing, being a writer as a career, I knew what I was getting into—what it would cost, and what I aimed to do in it.
This is the thing I love, communication and the art of word play. It’s what I do. It’s legit what I do. And for the love of it, I happen to write down my imagination to sell to people. I keep pens on hand, my desk is covered in papers and my laptops are always running out of space.
This, indeed, is my sweet spot.
Love and blessings,
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If Ms. Rachel Robinson ever sees this, we remember. We remember, Ms. Rachel.
42 is my birthdate backwards just like it takes four minutes for a man to survive without oxygen just like you have two hands and one mouth so you’re supposed to listen twice as much as you speak and you have 2 feet and with the speed of the black panther played by a black panther, gave us the immortality that is number 42.
The husband of one woman, the father to his own to his own son, and the leader ship and dignity of a people on broad black shoulders— John Henry ain’t got nothing on Jack.
That Jack. That Ebony, black Jack Jack with the blue cap with the B on it because he knew he knew that the baddest ones always come from Brooklyn—
Be like the heart that Was in his chest that beat for us that lifesblood that came from every cut from every slide every name not his own from from every sling and arrow of outrageous fortune that he had to endure in baseball cleats.
Just like the hands that gripped bats, that gripped pens in order for him to graduate from UCLA in the 53 years that he was able to walk on 2 feet here Head held high like his mother Mallie told him—
looking like everything that we could wish and hope for.
it was the invisible wall that kept falling on him that sped the clock faster than his feet could that took him from us like wings of Eagles that Isaiah talked about
and now in the shadow of all things now, and yet to come, we remember, and we would also remember what took him we fight to not take us.
I have gotten such highs, and lows, and nights where I cannot believe this is currently my own life! Over the next few days, I get to refocus, publish, post and bring you beloved people up to speed, as I regain strength, stamina, belief…and organization.
There are so many things happening and coming, dearest ones!
And I have missed you all so much!
Here is to the second (or third) round of catching up!
All the mammies are dead they said as they walk toward freedom with their rifles and Bibles in their hands summoning thunder with each clap with blood of their fathers and the features of their mother‘s as they advanced toward everything they were told they could not have.
all the mammies are dead they chanted as they charged Citadel‘s and burn plantations and overturn systems and tables as their Lord and Saviour who through the support and love of his own mother and power of His father endured the cross to the end.
All the mammies are dead they said as they threw down the babies of their oppressors to the dirt by which they are destined to return nothing more that is vital will be pulled from our body for you to only swallow to greed Spit up because there is no chaser Or reject because it is not sweet enough. because it is expected of us to die dry!
All the mammies are dead they said as they took their rightful places at tables cut by the hands of their father in woods their great grandfather’s had planted… and sons hung from
all the mammies are dead they said as they ruled and reigned crowns adjusted putting 10,000 to flight
all the mammies are dead they said knowing that freedom is now freedom is present and we never ever going back
Grab a copy on Amazon! The Kindle version is coming!
One of my favorite songs is, and may always be, Next Lifetime.
There is a honesty to this song, a wondering, and a realizing that while life is changing–so are you.
This collection of poetry was written about a year ago, and started with the work Reflections From A Back Porch Swing. This poetry collection tells of how my own body is aging and betraying me at points. I talk about the new relationship I accidentally fell into, and even the shifting nature of motherhood now.
Everything is happening, and I am in the everything! In this shifting levels of amazing, there is a peace I have found in these pieces. There is more of me in this work, as a realized, happy 41-year-old woman, than I ever had before.
This lifetime, this lifetime and next lifetime, is amazing!
I am now almost half of my grandmother’s age, and 1 year younger than Dorothy Dandridge was when she died. I am also the age my murdered cousin would have been had he just listened.
Had he just listened.
For this completed trip around the sun, I am more confident than I thought I would be, and yet more resilient than I thought I had to become! I am writing more, tolerating less, and aware that the person I make my life with cannot be intimidated by my light.
I have decided to proceed with getting my MFA, at my dream school: New York University! I am raising daughters to negoitate the world, and not just survive it.
At age 41, I refuse to shrink. Why should I?
I am learning to own every space I am in, because my presence is a present! My talents in any situation are assets, and I refuse to have anyone around me that desires me to shrink or be mediocre!
I have been gifted with more opportunities to be great, trusting God in a way I’m sure will leave legacy, and in a relationship that both strengthens and scares me. Part of me believes that I cannot be a wife again because the vulnerability it would require—I don’t believe I can. Yet, I cannot help but to want that again.
I have decided before at the completion of my divorce, to keep my maiden name. The crazy thing? I have to ask the state for that privilege to ask for what I was born with back! As I started writing new work, I began hyphenating my name. The ex didn’t give me the name I needed to move in the world, not really.
My father did. The only man who could ever be bold enough to tell me what to do!
I am learning that joy is a choice. Daily. Sometimes hourly! My good girlfriends (whom know have crossed into the realm of ‘grown’) tell me how fabulous these 40’s are–and I am glad I listened! As I reflect on the 4 previous decades, I am in awe of God! I am in awe in a way that proves just how fragile life is, and the times when I thought not being in the world was the right answer.
This birthday is more than cake, more than presents–it is readjusting my crown. It is realizing that I deserve everything I have earned…every joy, every achievement! I am now at the point where I can look at the woman in the mirror and tell her, “We made it! Let’s see how this ends up.”
Family, I must tell you that I know I have to catch things up. Bare with me while I do! There are pieces I scheduled and didn’t complete, poetry I have to post, and things I have to do for sanity and business sake.
The inundating of posted work and think pieces is coming.
I know we are about 4 months from Halloween, but as the benevolent being I am, I wanted to announce this work soon to come starting September 12, 2022!
As a horror fan who desires more representation of the melaninated, this project will be a set of 50 short stories—one story per night for 50 nights. The 50th night ending on Halloween—as my writer girlfriend Tonia says is Goth Christmas.
For this project there will be vampires, Reapers, werewolves, witches and all matter of other mischief of my own making.
I will give you this teaser—you will need to follow every night, otherwise you will be lost! Remember, I wanted you.
I am excited to bring this work to you, I am so proud of it, and I believe you all will love it too!