#Feb28 Black History Month 2018 Poem: "To Know Our Kind" by Jackie D. Rockwell
In 2015, I wrote a poem. A forgotten yet impassioned moment on May 29 @ 10:35 AM. Found in the notes app on my phone, just yesterday. I don't remember writing it. It could have been a dedication to my grandmother, or a friend, but most likely my child. Obviously an expression of Spirit and an unapologetic glimpse at my soul as a Black woman. A stroke of good fortune to be found just in time for a public debut before Black History Month 2018 ends. But it needed a frame; a head shot; a magnification. And I found the perfect one. Happy last day of the month for all things historical on being red blooded American & Black.
To Know Our Kind
It's been said that black don't crack but here's what black does do: it aspires and never tires, it reaches for and preaches what it's been taught to; no matter how fraught with holy misinformation and any unsacredness that pleases us like theories of conspiracy on one thing or another that has nothing to do with anything except those chain linked ties that bound us. And the past does and does not matter. Ceiling glass just can't shatter and we won't do better if we don't look at the hearts of these birds of a feather. And our hurt is truly self imposed because, nobody else knows or cares more than ourselves, about one another. Must we trifle? Must we trudge? Must we fake it? Must we take it? Must we judge? Don't we know better? Somebody does. Black don't crack but it blemishes, burns, molds, bruises, freckles, gets fat, gets old. Gets cancer, in breasts and lungs and colorectal.. But Black also conforms, cries, worships, dies. Celebrates, educates, twitterpates, and beautifully co-creates.. Then graduates..... in June one year, and June four years later, and June two years later.. To be continued in another 2 - 4 years when she doctorates... No, Black don't crack. Black cultivates and liberates and gratefully m̶e̶d̶i̶c̶a̶t̶e̶s̶ ummmmm meditates. Hahaha! ©JackieDRockwell