and mothering even the ones not buried
by you ashes black branded into your
blood without consent then gone quietly
into the night whether you push the
black child into the universe or pulled
one close our mothering remains an
inkless experience kitchen tables are by
far my greatest teachers and healers
when trying to discover and remember
remember and discover who I was I’m
Mama’s voice let me know I was real in
the world every day has a new son she
says reminding me
God kissed our skin so we’re not meant
to be invisible from there we give what
we have what we know to our children
sometimes America is not free or brave
sometimes is blood-soaked soiled buried
bones with no headstones and we must
teach our children to live the life they
believe is possible not the one they’ve
been boxed into praise for abusive
behavior when putting children back
between the lines of white America
neglectful when our children fail so
mothering for a black woman is a
constant cycle of God and godless blood
and water heaven and hell it’s a prayer
ritual sometimes filled with silence
because our hearts are heavy and our
souls are empty some of us make it to
the other side some of us sacrifice some
of us give up but we are all brave to
birth a black child into this world we
are all brave to allow our bodies to
breathe as best we know how and feel as
full as we can we just trying to find a
promised land the heart of this
country’s bright makes for a textured
entry point and curating black
motherhood a rich layered legacy yet to
be fully exposed so I wrestle with
revealing myself even to myself when
you’re greeted by law and persecution in
the midst of pain
becomes a badge of honor bring me the
bread and the roses becomes your battle
cry every piece of my being is peppered
with a dark complex soul wrenching yet
somehow breathtakingly beautiful love
affair with the south for better or
worse it is my home my anchor although I
have drifted the lighthouse of my heart
always guides me back I honor the
bloodshed here the blood that reached
the highest office of this land yet
flows to the depths of the Atlantic
Ocean the blood that gives me strength
from day to day will never lose its
power so I stand on solid ground bearing
witness to movement yet I stand on solid
ground feeling like sinking sand in the
darkest days of my motherhood knowing
black mothers birth more than children
knowing you must build a village to
within your womb when all you really
want to do is bring forth life our
mothering is the promise of prophecy
telling us there is more than purpose in
your pain there is electricity if we
choose to love if we choose to be brave
unmask our being shed our shame tell our
stories proving we are more than stretch
marks we are more than magic because
there’s no trick to what we do there’s
no illusion no sleight of hand when it
comes to raising black babies is
shedding tears with a woman whose voice
you’ve never heard but you know her
cries praying for women you’ve never
touched wanting what all mothers want to
know we are not alone when the myth of
motherhood crumbles at our feet
children forging the paths in the world
on their own terms when the fear of one
day being drafted into the mounting army
of mourning mothers burying yet another
black child overwhelms us we want what
all mothers want
– no there is space for us unleash all
that binds us we the alter were all lay
down their burdens absorbing whatever
they are hungry for we pour into them
and make them more loving without limit
waking every day by babbling babies
to-do-list
ancients adolescents instead of alarm
clock still kiss the sunrise balanced on
beams like it’s our birthright praying
down walls building dreams with broken
bricks held together by faith every day
every day we wake with the weight of the
world on our backbone and just when we
feel every inch of our marrow running
dry some sweet sister whispers in our
ear there’s a village my love
there are women among us with beautiful
wings disguise as arms that stretch
through time wrap us up so that we can
stand face whatever mountain in our way
face the day cloaked in truth when it
would have been easier to lay down in
lies remind us we are worthy of love we
are worthy of forgiveness Redemption we
are creators we are more than fly we
light up the sky illuminate the world we
are electric remind us we know what love
looks like so let not the remains of our
mothering be marked but those who hunted
our children who made us too familiar
with the stitch of burning flesh so I
will stay here build on this
blood-soaked soil
tell the stories of women who went toe
to toe with
Beth who bore fruit in a land thirsty
for black blood since its inception
I will tell secrets once swallowed by
the soil but forever etched in memory
now unleashed I will bear witness
today’s past and they will look at me in
awe as if I am a preacher
spitting tales of ancient times they
will say mama we won and I will say yes
[Applause]
[Music] you