At the produce markets that populated Church Avenue, if someone cut in line or pushed her while trying to squeeze past, my mother would hurl the harshest obscenity that came to mind, “Fuck!” It was in fact one of her favorites because
Has it happened to you? Maybe you’re scrolling through Twitter searching… no, damn near begging for a meme of happiness… then BOOM! Under your thumb is a video of some racist cop assaulting a Black person for a reason as small as
A typical Sunday morning as a millennial five-year-old Black girl may have gone like this: She awakens. She needs to go to the bathroom, but if her mom sees her, she may be sent back immediately to get dressed for church. So
Every Friday night I come home from work, change my clothes and I flop down on the couch. In my head, I have other plans. Maybe clean the house. Maybe sit at the computer and write. Maybe finish reading the book I
The alarm pings and the piercing sound reverberates through the walls. My eyes blur to make out that it’s 6:00 am. I slam on the snooze button, praying for just five more minutes. I’ve woken up in a tangle of curls and
My journey to motherhood has at once been a step forward into uncharted territory and a step back into an almost forgotten vulnerability. I am Black, Queer, Woman. My journey to the point where I could harmoniously claim these aspects of my
My daughter is black. Skin like turned earth. Eyes the color of midnight. A black freckle on the underside of her wrist matches mine and another just to the left of her smile. This land does not make space for her so
They built a church on the land where my body was broken. Parishioners come every Sunday morning believing it to be holy ground. Yet I know this to be the ground where my soul was desecrated one Thursday evening. Prior to being
