Is it me or is this JonBenet shit getting out of control?!?! I mean, not to call out the obvious but would the media coverage be this out of the control if she was a little chocolate baby? I think not. It's frightening how the media has swarmed like bees over this story and their attempts to make the general public as insanely obsessed about this case as they were 10 years ago are definately on and poppin. Call me naive, but I guess it still shocks me how blatant their disregard for our lives really is. I am thoroughly disgusted.

To my Ladies...

keep ya heads up.
dehumanized and oversexualized, we walk through life ready to fight for everyone but ourselves.
we fight for our families, we fight for our men...
we'll tend to our wounds later....

keep ya heads up.
diminshed to nothing but ass, tits and lips
disrespected as regularly as passing gas
going out must now include being grabbed, fondled and hemmed up
"damn that's a fat ass!" a compliment graciously offered by a man who smiles and waits for a thank you

keep ya heads up.
cuz there is definately a drought
married men seeking concubines
brothas seeking second mothers, trophies, "jumpoffs"
or some milk for their coffee cuz sistas just got too much attitude... (plus they refuse to give head!)

keep ya heads up.
cuz although it hurts when he doesn't call
it hurts more when he calls you out your name
or tries to take by force what society has taught him is rightfully his
refusing to see us as human beings

keep ya heads up.
cuz we just ain't worth the work no more
brothas tap out before the first date and still expect a good-bye bang
leavin us feelin empty and worthless

keep ya heads up.
cuz sacrifice without reciprocity is not what's up
nor is looking fly and pretending everything is under control
while your insides ache and deteriorate

keep ya heads up.
cuz we have to get through it
and He did not put us on this Earth to be shitted on.
our wombs birthed these fools
and though the burden is ample and the scars painful
we are the true "evidence of divine presence"
and we deserve the same peace and respect from our "brothas" that we give to them

keep ya heads up.
cuz our power is unparallel (and i'm not referring to the power of the p-u-s-s-y!)
if only we would realize and utilize.

Stories & Secrets

This fall marks the beginning of new phases for my mother's daughters. I, myself will be moving to Philadelphia while the middle child goes away to college in Framingham and the youngest begis high school. With all the packing and preparation being done, last Wednesday, my anxious mother packed up her 3 daughters for some much needed quality time in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

Along with hiking on trails, swimming in rivers and sun bathing by the hotel pool, the three days were more importantly spent talking to and listening to each other. Telling stories and secrets, laughing too loud, giving un-asked for advice and eating too much ice cream!

Driving through Lincoln that first morning, surrounded by trees and mountains while Sergio Mendes and Bebel Gilberto set the storytellers stage, I listened to my mother unravel tales of growing up skinny and nappy in Haiti... of catching lizards and frogs for fun, of picking mangos off trees... of her longing to be Home again.

The next afternoon in the hotel room was time for girl talk. While painting each other's nails, we giggled over the discovery that my 13 year old sister has already kissed 3 boys (!), and gagged at my poor mother's dilemma: how to get busy with her husband without her kids overhearing... (GROSS!). With tough love that can only come from sisters and moms, we prepped my sweet, naive, slightly air head of a 18 year old sister for college and mom gave her "You're too fly to be dealing with this mess!" talk to her eldest.

Our last night in New Hampshire was spent laughing. The kind of laugh you can only have with family. The kind of laugh where tears stream down, your face hurts, the belly hangs out and a fart or two might sneak away. We ordered Chinese and bought Corona's (for my mom and I), we watched Spiderman, played Rumi and made up our own version of Charades (my mom's enactment of "Beauty and the Beast" still has me cracking up!).

On the drive home Saturday morning, (this time to the soundtrack of Beres Hammond and Bob Marley) I reflected on how blessed I am that my best friends, my support system, my shoulder to cry on, my personal fan club are all related to me.

just one of dem nights

I want somebody to walk up behind me
and kiss me on my neck, and breathe on my neck
It's been such a long time
I forgot that I was fine
Just kiss me, on my neck, and breathe on my neck

Emptyness, loneliness. This void can't be filled.
Not by good friends,
laughs or good food
Not by family, quality time
Malibu Sea Breezes or
purple Haze
Not by movie nights
The Roots, Common or Erykah
Not by shopping sprees
shoe sales, eyebrows by Heidi
or brand new wooden bangels...
Good friends, good food, good wine...
They say that's all we need, us SBW (strong, black women)
Bump the base and laugh real loud, turn the volume up!
anything... anything
... to keep from hearing the slilence
The loneliness inside
The longing... the hunger...
to be touched, to be held
to feel warm breath on the back of your neck...
lulled to sleep by rhythmic breathing and a second heartbeat
a warm body
a soft touch
Nothing fills it, this void...

To the P.O.S who tried to attack me at 8 a.m. on a Tuesday morning on my way to work: I just wanted to let you know that I'm feeling better now. For a couple weeks after you ran up on me and threatened to "bust me up" in the middle of the street I was definately shook. I walked around day and night with mase in hand and couldn't take more than 5 steps without looking behind me; loud noises made me jump out of my skin and being in a packed train surrounded by strange men (normally a non threatening activity) was unbearable. Suddenly all strange faces posed a threat. I cried my eyes out that day. Not simply because a total stranger had the audacity to follow me to work, invading my personal space and scaring the shit out of me; nor because of the demeaning and insulting comments you made while you were doing it; nor the way you made me feel afterwards- weak, vulnerable and defenseless. I cried because I had to wonder about the assumptions and notions that were programmed in your head about a young black woman walking down the street that enabled you to treat me in such a way. I had to wonder, not if you saw me as an equal (obviously not) but if you saw me as a human being at all. These past couple of weeks, I've reclaimed my humaness along with some of the power you took from me that morning so I can walk again in peace (although I've begun taking different routes everyday). I'm sure you don't care but I just thought you should know.

Folks gotta eat.

With a room full of folks and an empty refrigerator, this past Friday I jumped on the #1 out to Tropical Foods in Roxbury. In a city starved of culture, Tropical Foods offers a one stop shop of languages and flavas.

"Taxi? Taxi!" the parade of Latin men make sure I know they'll be there on my way out. An array of smells greets me as I enter the doors... varying shades of brown pushing silver carriages up and down the aisles while momma's of 4 shop on $50/month budgets sway their hefty hips to the salsa music playing overhead. The music is only interrupted for calls for assistance announced, of course, in spanish. Tropical Foods is an extended version of the "Ethnic/International/Goya" sections of Shaws and Stop & Shop. Shelves are filled with "3rd world" goodies; special ingrediants thrown together to make a cold country feel like home... if only during dinner time. Avocados, coconut water, mangos and callaloo, fish heads, Adobo and tostones. From Jamaica to Trinidad and everywhere in between, there's something for everyone (and inexpensive!). In aisle 1 there's a young woman yelling at her chubby chocolate son in Jamaican patois; aisle 4 I find a Dominican couple deciding on what will be for dinner that night en espanol and in aisle 5, a hefty Haitian woman cackles with her whole body as her girl retells the drama of the night before in creole. I pay at the register, just meeting the budget for my own family of 4 (Kindred and dem), I bag my groceries and walk back out into the midday sun. The taxi drivers are momentarily distracted by a heated argument between two men, for a second I think I've gotten away... and then... "TAXI? TAXI!!" I'd been spotted. "No thanks". I grab a Banner while I wait for Cuz to come help me out. I smile and shake my head... grateful to be a part of a the ongoing Tropical game of hopscotch.