And So It Begins

Today is going to be a L-O-N-G day. Munch’s project was due today. No exceptions. It was another rainy day in Maryland and I had to use a large trash bag to cover his project up so that it didn’t get wet. We worried over that this morning at 7 am. But, I’m happy to say that we completed it.
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I told Munch to return the trash bag today so that we waste not want not. LOL. Don’t judge me. I ran outside to tell the before care driver to please make sure that Munch doesn’t leave his project in the van. It can’t be late or he will get a zero. He said okay. Kisses good-bye to my beautiful son and then I had to rush to get ready.

I had a follow-up doctor’s appointment on my right shoulder that’s been bothering me for the last month. I had the MRI’s done on Monday so I was anxious to find out what the heck is going on with me. The pain was subdued now because of the medications. I can actually go a whole 24 hours without a pain pill.

The results were inconclusive. No major damage. No spinal damage. No pinched nerves. He recommended therapy 2 times a week for the next 4 weeks and then follow-up again. Ugh! I then rushed to work in another rainy mess of a day.

I get to work and begin working and looked down to check my messages and found out that my son left his book bag in the van. The front office called me. Ugh! A call and a couple of text messages to the director of the center. He needs his book bag. His lunch and Tae Kwan Do uniform are in it. The director called back to say he would bring it. I called the school and said that Munch can eat at the cafeteria because I have money on his account.

Tonight is his presentation on Maya Angelou for the PTSA’s Black History Month Program. I’m excited. I wrote the speech yesterday and we worked on it last night. My best friend said, “Let me see it. She was your literary hero so the report is probably too long.” He cut it in half. Ugh! Munch will probably like it better.

I will let you know how it worked out tomorrow. Wish us luck!

 

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Langston Hughes

Yay! One of my favorite poets. Langston Hughes was born February 1, 1902 and died May 22, 1967. He was a novelist and a social activist too. I discovered Langston Hughes in college. Can you believe it? Way too late.

But, it was in college that I fell in love with the Harlem Renaissance and the words of his poems “The Weary Blues”, “Mother to Son” and of course “Dream Deferred”. If you’ve never heard of Langston Hughes, please check your local library. He’s part of our history. Black History is American History.

Mother To Son

Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor-
Bare.
But all the time
I’se been a-climbin’ on,
And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.
So, boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps.
‘Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now-
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

 

langston hughes

Happy Father’s Day!

Today is father’s day and I want to wish all the men out there who are father’s or play a fatherly role to a child, Happy Father’s Day! We salute and honor you for all that you do. I know it seems that no one recognizes you and all your contributions, but trust me they do. More importantly, the children recognize your importance.

Here’s a poem I wrote in honor of my son’s relationship with his dad. I wanted to share what I think that my 7-year-old thinks about his dad. The first person that held him. The first person that kissed him. The first person that changed his diaper. His dad.

I AM HIS

Strong

Powerful

Reliable

First love

Survivor

Friend

Guardian

Protector

My dad

Always knows what to do

Protects me from the dark

Holds my hand always

Tells me he loves me everyday

Even when I can’t be near him I

Call to remind him of my voice

He smiles and laughs and says

“You know I will never forget” and I nod

But, there is something about my daddy

That makes me want to always check-in and

Share

The small things that happened

Talk about my day

For this man whose eyes and smile are a reflection of my own

Loves without thought

Gives without concern

And knows

That he is raising a king

His king

Enjoy your day loves!

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I Prefer Not To Be

I prefer not to be in your math class

having you subtract and divide my soul into multiple pieces

I prefer not to be in your English class

when you don’t even know that there must be a verb in every sentence

I prefer not to be in your history class

When you can’t see that the pain you’re causing me is relative to slavery

I prefer not to be in your science experiment

When you don’t understand that the proper titration of my heart is causing an overflow

I prefer not to be in your gym class

I don’t want you dribbling my heart down the court trying to make a 3 pointer

I prefer not to be in your french class

When you can’t even translate “Je te aime beaucoup”

I prefer not to be

A part of your life

 

I Wish

I love the scent of you

The scent of your skin invokes memories of

Happiness

When we were happy

When we loved without thought

When we laughed without regard

When we realized that in this bitter world

It was only us

That existed

 

But our existence has ended

We live in two separate worlds

Worlds of reality and fantasy

I want reality

You want fantasy

You tell me that your fantasy is my reality

And I realize that you may be right

And I wish I could turn back time

Rewind all the memories

Erase from my mind the scent of you

Then maybe I could stop

Just stop

Hating you

Black Girl Broken

Unexplained infertility

That was the diagnosis

No medical reason

Why this black girl couldn’t conceive

I’m broken

I cried out “My God why have you forsaken me?”

 

“Options” was what the doctor said

“You have options”

In a cloudy haze I listened as this man

Began to explain my uterus

My womb

The core of my existence that was supposed to bring forth life

He was telling me how it worked?

How could he know?

 

How could he know what I was feeling?

Could he see through my soul and know that

I was burning and screaming

In pain

I was broken

My uterus was the soul of who I am

It was broken

No medical reason

No real diagnosis

Unexplained infertility

Black girl broken

 

 

Gwendolyn Brooks – Pulitzer Prize Winner

Gwendolyn Brooks was the first African-American person to win a Pulitzer Prize for Literature. She wrote many poems about being black during the 1940’s and 1950’s. Her poems were so vivid. She would write about struggling black people both men and women in a way that would capture the reader. It was in college that I learned of Gwendolyn Brooks and her brilliance when I read “The Mother”.

Her first poetry anthology, “A Street in Bronzeville”, gained the attention of literary experts in 1945. She was praised for both her poetic skill and her powerful descriptions about the black experience during the time. The Bronzeville poems were her first published collection. She won the Pulitzer Prize in 1950. She was the first black to do so. But, it didn’t stop there because she also was poetry consultant to the Library of Congress—the first black woman to hold that position—and poet laureate of the State of Illinois. Awesome right?

One of my favorite poems by Ms. Brooks is “The Mother”. I read this in college and cried. This poem is so gut wrenching that I knew at that moment that I wanted to write. To put on paper all the emotions and observations of the world I live in. Gwendolyn Brooks, like Maya Angelou, helped give me my voice and for that I am thankful.

The Mother – by Gwendolyn Brooks

Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.

 

I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed children.
I have contracted. I have eased
My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized
Your luck
And your lives from your unfinished reach,
If I stole your births and your names,
Your straight baby tears and your games,
Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches, and your deaths,
If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,
Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine,
Whine that the crime was other than mine?—
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather, or instead,
You were never made.
But that too, I am afraid,
Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
You were born, you had body, you died.
It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.

 

Believe me, I loved you all.
Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you
All.
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