BRAVE STAR
singing like a slow scent beneath the sunArchive for August, 2006
early writing: part four
this afternoon my little brother asked if i was alright. i said yes, of course. but something is eating away at me. i’m not quite sure what though. i think watching the documentary last night really woke up something that i’ve been trying to put to sleep. last night before i went to bed i experienced what i can only call a delirium, a rage, and it must have been a manifestation of all the sediments of things i’ve been trying to float away. all this fucking water imagery.
i watched the second half tonight, which pissed me off more than made me sad. jj called me right after it was over but i can’t talk to him. i can’t really even write and my stomach hurts.
early writing: part three
i just finished watching the first two parts of spike lee’s documentary on hurricane katrina, “when the levees broke” and all i want to do is write him a thank-you note as even i had forgotten. this was the first time i had even brought myself to look at the pictures, the bodies, the lives. this cannot be america. i need to go. i need to see it. i need to feel it. i’m embarrassed and ashamed that it has taken me this long to really think about it, to really see that this unimaginable nightmare is someone’s life, that we are not even a year away from it all. and everyone says we have nothing to fight for. hearing the voices of the survivors filled with sorrow and fury, seeing the dead mothers and daughters and daddies and neighbors, has awakened something so natural, so raw within me. these people are in my blood. they are in my dreams and my wishes, in my breathing. and i finally remember.
early writing: part two
yesterday we had a block party and i really realized how much i cherish the friendships that i made as a child and how much i miss the people who come from where i come from– the people who watched me grow up. the boys who i made climb trees, who i played football and teeball and canball with in the street. the old folks who yelled at us for making noise too late in the night. the girls who talked to boyfriends while i did my homework on the patio. the moms and dads who busted their asses so we would all turn out alright. everybody was back last night. and i missed the ones who weren’t there. we reminisced about Shy and Ky, my homegirls, my best friends. now it’s just me and E, the remainder of the original crew. and we talked about how other people we meet out there in the world just never compare to our friends from the block. we are all finally grown now and i have a lot of hope for us and the future.
early writing: part one
a few days ago, my new friend and music library-man, As, told me about this chick who was gonna be on npr. her name is sara tavares and she’s cape verdean and brilliant. her album called “balancê” is a beautiful equivalent of perfect. and she’s only 26.
long story short, hearing her whispering across the radio the other night made me know for certain that i’ll be here next summer–
backspace
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bits of a reading i did with sonia sanchez at the african independence day festival in malcolm x park in philly
august 3 2006.
here’s the text of the poem:
After Body and Soul
I couldn’t find my church shoes this morning.
They just plain brown shoes but the insides feel like peaches.
And Mama plucked me on my ear cuz I guess peaches is expensive.
She plucked me like she ain’t want me to hear no more
but I couldn’t feel it.
Couldn’t feel it kinda like when I come in late after jumping
in puddles in the schoolyard and my toes be all numb
and Mama just be yelling
but I can’t hear it.
Feel like I got mud in my ears
when her voice be hollerin heavy like the gait of an angry piano
or sometimes even when she just be smiling.
When she smell like pancakes and musk
and her hair look like licorice.
When it’s the morning time and
I got my Sunday school shoes on
so my feet feel like peaches
while we walk to the church
soft and proud like elephants.
