love, z.s.

{reference points}

there never would have been enough strength. what you needed me to do, be, threatened to break my back.

so i walked.
walked fast, far and long.

i found a place for myself.
a small, simple, pretty place i love.

i had no choice but to make it home.

i found other ways to love.  but none that awakened. none that stayed weekends, cooked breakfast, or drew baths.  none that fed me soup or wrapped me in blankets when the chill came.  none that laughed, cried or moaned with me.  none that kissed me in the rain.

i loved in cool, collected ways.  ways that earned gratitude, friendships and laughter.  ways that danced, sung, prayed sometimes.  it was not passion, but it was often joy.  most of the time, this was enough, this open, public love.

most.

i manage.
i survive.

my heart is a kind of desert, one that remembers itself as rainforest: lush and fertile, plush with brilliant flowers and technicolor birds.

yes, there is beauty in the desert: a stark palette of necessity, utility.  the sky is still its blue; some cacti flower.

life just under the surface...love buried in sand full of dormant seeds and preserved pollen.  the arid blessing that maintained the bodies of ancestors for thousands of years.  a whispering love, praying the wind will serve as audience.  the occasional, elusive oasis fed by hidden waters.

it is there.

it is still deciding what to be.

brash as an explorer, excavating buried realms?
skittish as a lizard?

it survives, though.

like so many things that shouldn't, but do...it survives.

because it is, i am.

and i go on.

in my little home
in the desert

with
a love
that
awaits
a monsoon.

soft

we tend to know when our babies ain't made for this world.

from mother mary to mama cissy there have been prayers for understanding, time...

but sometimes it's real from the first.

they too soft.
too good.
too sweet.
too loving.

baby smiles and childish giggles
clouded with worry, concern.

no babies
are made to fight machines
and survive

black babies are no different.

...but we are expected to be.
as if our rattles are made of steel
and we teethe on granite pebbles.

for those of beauty
taken under
and torn asunder...

basquiat
donnie
'trane
nippy
phyllis

& the unnamed
and unclaimed
of the streets
'hoods
and barrios:

for your sake,

may we heal
and know care;

nurture
and know love;

listen
and find peace.

temple woman's prayer

Mother of Mothers
Immaculate Heart
Blessed One

hear me now.

shield, guide and protect your daughter.
guide me to the path that will feed my heart and soul.

protect me from those who can only see my body and its pleasures,
who would expressly use my power as their own.

bring me true love and affection.
give me, grant me the power to heal in other dimensions,
and the express choice to determine when i do it intimately.

may I nor any other daughter be forced into this position again, ever.
and those in the profession be protected and respected.

remind me, Sweet Mother, that my body is Your instrument, Your vessel.

I may not love all, but I can be compassion-filled.
where my legs stay closed, may my heart remain appropriately open...

thank You
for my beauty
the sway of my hips
my shape
my sensuality
my flirtatious, wild nature.

I love who You've made me.

strengthen my mind, heart and spirit.
remove all shame and doubt.

what You have bestowed, let no one rend asunder.

Ase.

as above, so below: a written meditation

some of us are comets, shooting stars, and meteors, 
meant to flash briefly, beautifully across the sky.

others are stars: fixed, nearly timeless;
distant, but burning bright with exemplary fire.

there are also planets among us:
folks creating and sustaining entire ecosystems in and around ourselves.

the early passing of comets, shooting stars and meteors is painful, but natural. we must let them go, grateful we saw them shine.

it's important to sustain gratitude for the impressions our stars leave behind.  even as they die, they create something new in their wake. 

as for the planets, we must learn to sustain them as they sustain us--for although they appear immortal, they too can pass away.

selah

this moment

releasing the love that didn't happen
to embrace the loves that can.

desire

i wanna sleep
and dream of magic...

{inspiration}

in remembrance of me

i will line my eyes with kohl
and seduce anyone who gets in my way.

understanding 2

realizing
i am the gentle healing,
the breeze before the hurricane;

the first answer to your cries
to the universe.

if you can learn your lessons
through sweetness,
i'm a blessing.

ignore me,
take kindness for weakness
and my affection for granted,
i remove my asé
and the fires begin to burn.

après moi,
le déluge.

i will always
move on
will always
be whole
with
or without
you.

choose wisely.

egun

the ancestors are close...whispering, nudging, laughing, playing...

i am, all at once, grateful and curious about what they have to share with me...my great grandmother, especially.

i only know her through photos and my mother's stories, although my great aunt looks a lot like her.  she was gone a full 15 years or so before i entered the world.

to me, she's been a sweet presence with a wind-chime laugh, smiling through dreams and waking visions.  and it seems she is part of the crew ushering me into this next phase of life. 

it's her recipe my mother uses for the christmas rolls. although they're always delicious, she says they never come out quite like nanny's. 

she helped with my biscuits last night. they're delicious. i will remember the technique. 

afterwards, i wondered how often she'd guided me around the kitchen...if her chicken-raising in the basement somehow girded my spirit against squeamishness during sacrifice.

her presence reminds me of the long absence of her oldest daughter - my grandmother.  she has been on the other side nearly 30 years now, but it feels like she never really left me.

i knew her briefly. my only memory is of hands the color of old ivory - hands i apparently share, albeit in a deeper caramel - and snatches of a voice. i do not remember the distinctive laugh my mother says she is slowly forgetting.

maybe if i mix her favorite drink, she'll whisper a hello...

The Day the Sun Spoke

Did you know the Sun spoke for a day? It's true!

One day, Mama decided people must want noise everywhere, all the time.

In the cities, there were few places left for quiet, and more space for noise was being cleared all the time. Nearly everyone was running to the cities anyway. So, She decided to give the elements voices.

understanding (napowrimo #10)

for miss lizzie, lena mcpherson, lauren olamina, marie levant 
and their real-life counterparts

how do i tell you
i can belong to no one
because i belong to all?

i am always myself
and others;
walking between worlds,
i could be snatched from your arms
before your next stroke
return with knowledge of
ancient ritual and
a recipe for a healing bath
before the next.

who takes my place?
usually one of your past life lovers
grateful for the chance to see you again. 

she'll offer blessings
later...

before i can tell you
i love you
i have to determine
which voice i'm speaking in
who i'm speaking for
what language i'm translating from
and what part of you
i'm speaking to...

it will be
complicated 
with me.

primordial (napowrimo #1)

not all wombs open as easily as legs.

there are many ways to warm a bed
and feed from breasts. 

there was a time
when a woman unto herself
was understood
and embraced
as a different kind of ideal.

over time,
politics became important.
the men got suspicious
and aroused the suspicion of our sisters...

She said:
"it's all right.
from now on, you will just have to be brave.
respect that this path will be laced with broken glass
instead of leisure.
but you will know who you are.
and, if you learn your lessons well,
i will guarantee you want for nothing."

so, daughter,
we have always been here.

yes, some turned bitter
seeing our sisters' comforts;
the years of smug smiles and haughty glances
inspired the negative side of darkness.

therein lies the worst of our reputation.

still...
most of us
were simply good
and misunderstood.

the ritual

they placed me on the altar...the tea they'd given me dulled my senses, made me sluggish and weary.

i snapped awake when i saw the knife hovering above my head, then my heart...

i begged them to spare me--anything but death. suddenly lucid, i wiggled my naked torso, struggling against the binding on my hands and feet, still begging, don't spill my blood...

an elder woman heard me and stopped the priest's hand. 

her will is strong, she said. if she does not want to die, she must be put on trial.

fallen

you're the devil.

i know it.

and don't care.

i'm not some innocent damsel
with no heat of her own.

bring your fire dance;
i'll keep time.

a moment

breathing love
into the sad spaces
and sore places...

sacrifice {part 1}

i. 
i am
the holy whore,
redfoot woman.

i can still see the henna;
brass and gold sing as i walk--
ankles, feet, neck and crown
heavy with adornments.

full
always full
of my own
water.

quenching thirst,
cleansing souls.

i have laid upon the altar,
gave and gave;
conceived children of god
deep within myself
greeting them with fruit and incense
upon conception.

ii.
maybe
i have always known my place.

now, men fear
rather than respect;

no one teaches them anymore
no one leads them.

...yet they come.
drawn to the old ways
with numbed tongues
and far deeper wounds
than my  hands can heal.

iii. 
i am qadishtu,
a woman alone in her tent;
snow maiden,
daughter of het heru;
lightning for eyes,
honey for thighs.

nearly alone
this lifetime.

unadorned,
nearly forgotten...

but unable
to fade away.

use your words

...that's the message i'm working with right now.

so i need to write. often. i need to finish one of these half-assed projects that's been rolling around in my head for the past few years.

i suppose that's all well and good. at least it would be if i weren't so...

frustrated
overstimulated
fiercely impatient
overfed
insatiable
tired
cranky
temperamental
dissatisfied
hot (as in warm. literally.)

...aching like a starving goddess with no living medium to remember her name.

it's probably underutilized and stagnant creative energy bubbling up to the surface.

i'd like it to shut up and go away. or at least simmer down.

but i suppose i'll have to bear with the discomfort until i determine how i'm going to use it...

reality

i have a serious thing about fulfillment. i am not a pleasant person when i am unhappy or dissatisfied.

i don't expect to be free of desire, nor do i see the absence of desire as a natural state--unless your desire is warped into addiction.

if and when i begin to feel dissatisfied or distressed, i'm learning to shift reality, to make things look, sound and feel the way i want and expect them to.

i think people get caught up in understanding that process in a negative sense, i.e., you have to hurt or harm others to achieve that goal.

you don't.
you do not have to universally impose your will to achieve your bliss.

the universe has created a space for you--you do the work to find or open that space.

the need to bend others to your will is a sign of weakness and laziness. conquering isn't the same as mastering.

i don't need to make over anything not worth my ashe.

i voice the desire, i move towards the space.

the worlds of work and drudgery will never act as mother.

the earth and the universe will.

about me...

there is something about me
that cannot be easily explained away or justified...

too human to be mystifying,
i am growing into an unrooted tree--
all the wisdom, none of the entrapment.

my energy flows in fits and starts,
'cause this place doesn't always give you what you need to run right.
but i'm remembering that i was meant to live with open eyes,
fully vetted in the ways of spiritual humanity.

there is no need
to train me
or point me in the right direction--
i will swim my way home, thank you.

my father is the bearer of lightning.
my mother is the sweet hush of the river.

the masculine and feminine meet in me.

heaven lies behind one of my mind's doors.