To call oneself African (here) means, simply, the rejection of a view of self as mired in double consciousness. It is to imagine (or know—or avow, finally) one’s consciousness as that of the African’s untainted by the European encounter. …
Tag: poetry
hunger do you heed
In August the sounds of locusts are primroses or psychopomp, which do you dare~ In August I dream of the bay, cotton candy mute of clouds into shelf-wells of water walls gather and collecting the dream of themselves above or ahead, the just out of reach sky. If that is thunder, it cracks open the…
Prayer, to Mokosh Who is Also Death Wolf At Mutating Door
It never ceases to amaze me, I am awakened the night before last to the whir of my own stressors but watched from afar, not all the way connected, knowing I wasn’t awakened by my whir knowing there was a slam-fit hit to my solar plexus space, and like that I meandered through the day….
Since the time of the desk
The last time I went on vacation I drove 45 minutes up the coast highway and landed in a cheap boarding house I’d booked the night before on a 3rd party finder. Room cheap like the plastic blinds had runners missing in halves and a busted fridge that smelt like hot breath cheap, and a…
tiny as i am
Ahh right that’s what they wanted me to do circle on, I am thinking of or feeling out this- level generational patterning and deep in thought so that some parts of me are gigantic geometrics vibrating in the ether cortex, making mockery of satellites and shame. On her way out the door I am blowing…
This song is for you~
This is like being on the road I think to myself, the round empty in my body that needs for nothing, is willing to just show up to what is next. I take this as grace considering there is so much going on to show up to, so much to busy myself and especially my free…
in this Place all mine
I guess the one thing is I been needing this, a place to just Nurture poetry again the way this is Her House, this body, this ~ G ra ce~ to let the letters make consonants make vowels into verbs acting out playing with dancing about making sounds. The W o r d s~ this, which…
To Rest & Poetry, on the Winter Solstice
In Oregon the Breitenbush river is a color of steel-teal that exists no other place on the earth and this must be partly because of the non-negotiable trees. It is easy to be grounded and feel at one in your place in a place like this. It is easy to revere the miracle of dirt:…
I went camping to soothe my soul: Thoughts, Final Harvest Moon
I walk a lot on empty beaches. It helps me breathe from muscly places in my belly that otherwise I can’t feel because they’re so deep. So last Monday I guess it was, walking along the roiled and wilen coast, beholding the brown and black and steel greys of Hurricane Maria’s deeps, there came this…
Wildness on the Full Moon Tide
The last thing there is with ease is craziness in this world. Here in the house of my grandparents where only my mom and dad now live it is dark, far darker than any other place I’ve ever been. That includes both sets of coastal mountain regions where I’ve been lucky enough to stay,…
Wild Women Wisdom 