It is of the rolling of
Water in muddy rivers
That give the rebel
To the Belles along
Mississippi banks–
Give roar to what
Should have been
Whisper.
Gave power in havoc
Passion in chaos
And Anna became
Tina to tell us
How to get over
And the end of
One life is the
Gift of another.
The ancestral is God’s memory after all.
that is memory
Is gifted as
Music.
-JBHarris, 5.24.2023
Written after the passing of Tina Turner at age 83. STL KIDS CHANGE THE WORLD.
This year was introspective for me.
I was forced to think about things I was scared to, while making room for myself. I think the presumption is poets will have this never-empty, never-ending reservoir to soothe or settle those that read our thoughts.
I’m always humbled for it by anyone who reads my work or is inspired by it. Sometimes the wells we pull from for others, are dug by our own hands–watered by own tears!
Yet, we write.
We create.
We serve. Make no mistake: a poet is a servant. Perhaps this is why Baldwin said it is a horrible tragedy when a nation ceases to produce poets.
The poet remembers what everyone else forgets—and gives light when all is lost. On this, perhaps, hangs humanity.
I want to spit
Remembering every time
I told you that I loved you—
every time
I kissed you
every time
I close my eyes
to remind myself
of what peace
and love look like.
in the middle of hurricane wind
and hellfire knowing that
the desire you had for me
was only contingent
on “how quiet I would be”…
reliance fiercely on what
you knew I would become
because I would become
anything…for you.
because I was you, was a part of you.
because I would’ve was a part of you
I could not be without you
and now that the hurricane is over,
and the winds have gone
and the sun has come.
I want to spit
every time
I think of how deeply
I loved you
—-and meant it
-JBH, 12.8.2020
What do I do
Now when what you
Left me with
Haunts me…
And with all resolve
As faith gives
I send it back to
You.
The love was mine—this is mine.
I give this back to you!
I will not leave you to rest!
When it calls to you
from the depths of
what you thought
was dead
to quicken you
with kisses warm
and love a deep
reminding you of just
what you held on
for the glimpses of
future hidden in
past if I were
To just give you
more time
“You know
I love you
You know
she cannot be
what you are to me…”
Wait for me
you are my heart
love of my life…
there’s a chance
wake me from
summer willing my heart
to start all over again
so the wedding
won’t be so hard
this time perhaps
-JBHarris, July 2021
Written after the attempted murder/lynching of 16 y/o Ralph Yarl by 84 y/o Andrew Lester in the KCMO area. He shot Ralph bc he knocked on his door to pick up his siblings on 4/16-17.
It was the wrong door.
Shaun King brought attention to this incident and he is now arrested.
Our own domestic terrorism
Being product of our
Own capture
When those who
Bought us–have no more use for us.
When “Black and” is
Weapon and warning
While the weapon of our
Most current warfare,
Is not of this world nor
The principalities therein.
We are sheep among wolves.
Rabbits outrunning foxes.
Finding our own funds
Making our own guns
To make sure no White Knight
Enters our Black Day
Because we really want to know–
Why is he free,
And I am not?
-JBHarris, 4.18.23
Note: This piece will be in THE DEATH OF PETER PARKER & OTHER FAIRY TALES (August 2023).
In the myriad of hours
that I count since
counting you
as part of my hours
And days taking
your smile
your laugh
your joys
into all considerations
I wonder
is there ever truly room
for me in your hours
And days
to be counted
important among?
Counted enough
to be worthy
to be chosen.
From the pondering
I find myself wanting…again
-JBHarris, December 2021
I’m 41.
I’ll be 42 in June.
I am learning to love myself radically. Like, radically! From the sprinkling of gray hair, to the soreness in my left foot (#plantarfascitis), and yet, the fact I don’t look my age. I love the fact that I still love to dance in the mirror, still flexible, and I am enjoying my body.
I love that I can be a vixen in great heels, and comfy in my high top Chucks.
I am learning more about me as I age, and understanding what Mother Rashad said about my own self being such a treasure. It took me 4 decades to get to this point: to enjoy my own company, self, and place in the world.
I belong in the world. I add to it. It’s better with me in it.
Audre Lorde said that self-preservation is a radical act.
It took me to getting to age 40, to appreciate that. When I sit still too long, I feel a pain in my left hip. Not the joint, but the tendon. It pulls at me, reminding me of my age…and that I survived COVID-19 as a PCT during the first wave of the pandemic. Then, the snowball happens.
My mind wanders…it reminds me that I am still here.
I’m a rape survivor.
I’m a survivor of domestic violence.
I’m surviving racism.
I’m surviving sexism.
And misogynoir.
I am learning to say ‘No’, and absolutely mean it. I am learning to listen to God, and His gift of intuition. I am appreciating the fact I am a survivor–in control of the story I present to the world, and I tell myself. I am looking at myself in the mirror and smiling back at the woman that is there.
She and I? We gon be alright.
I count myself as a unique, mystical woman.
And for that cause, I think it was natural that I would be a writer.
It seems natural that I would be one that would fall in love with a world unseen, and subject to my own imagination. Next February, I will be celebrating 10 years as a published author.
I will be celebrating 10 years of doing what I love…what I have dreamt of doing since I was 10, 11 years old.
Daily I chase this talent: daily I am amazed by it.
Still thinking.
I am impressed by the amount of change of the world, and not enough invested change in ourselves. Phylicia Rashad said, “You yourself, is such a treasure.” Inside you is love, passion, ambition, drive, and raw unmined talent. Also there is apprehension, doubt, fear and suspicion. Choose this day what you will.listen to. What you will listen.to is what you will feed and follow.
Be HERE for your own life. Be present in your present.
JBH, 2.2014
I Breathe Fire 