My lips are the sweetest when the rooster crows. I begin drinking hot tea with Honey, at my hip, A mellow pair usually enjoyed head tilted. Eyes closed savoring this bliss often polluted with censorship. I begin drinking hot tea with honey at my hip. Produce waits to be served over rhythm and yawns. Savoring … Continue reading Aubade
Author: sage
There Will Be Horses On My Farm
What usually wakes you up? Cold lemon water with honey for me. The sound of hoofs against halomorphic soil is a close second though. There’s a trail crawling through our pasture. Nonlinear. Discombobulated at frail sections but never for too long. “I want to be as close as humanly possible with you,” says the path … Continue reading There Will Be Horses On My Farm
Litany for Yemaya’s Love
My mother never took me to the shore. You forfeit power when entering the ocean. She only yielded to water behind closed doors. Ma’s sobs filled my dreams. She had dark emotions. You forfeit power when entering the ocean. Our house had this heavy humid southern air. Ma’s sobs filled my dreams. She had dark … Continue reading Litany for Yemaya’s Love
Assist a Black Queer Person in Becoming a Midwife
Hello Blog Family! Many of you know this about me but for those who don’t: I am a Black Queer 18 year old who is determined to become a certified professional midwife (CPM). Black and Brown births MATTER, and the maltreatment against Black and Brown pregnant folks in the medical industrial complex is beyond unacceptable. … Continue reading Assist a Black Queer Person in Becoming a Midwife
Autumn
Whimsical laughter consumed our front yard as we discovered how daffodils danced in the wind. Glided as high as our dreams, tangible shortly before they wiggled through our fingers. Fingers that would point to the “V” birds in the sky, leaving but never really gone. Never truly missed because we all knew they’d be back. … Continue reading Autumn
Autobiography after Margaret Atwood
The first thing I can remember is numbness. The sizzle the flat iron made when it pressed down on my hair. Burnt hair smell wavered in the living room as Momma desperately tried to make my afro presentable. A dissolution of my identity also hung in the air, but I wouldn’t really smell that until … Continue reading Autobiography after Margaret Atwood
Pyrophyte
I see my life reflected the most in Longleaf Pines. Sometimes the intersections of my identities make me feel like I am surrounded by heat on all sides. Like there is nowhere to go and nothing to do but burn to the ground. But in these moments, that I feel will incinerate me, growth is … Continue reading Pyrophyte
Audre Taught Me How to Dance
I was forced to discover Assata Shakur, Alice Walker, Audre Lorde, and countless other Black writers on my own. In my English classes, we sat in huge circles and cheered as Emily Dickinson and William Carlos Williams did the Carolina shag in the center. “One-and-two, three-and-four, five-six” replayed in my head as I watched them … Continue reading Audre Taught Me How to Dance