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Wish I Could Tell You

 I wish I could tell you that it didn't shatter me when you said I was "just a courtesy" and it felt like you swung a sledhammer against my frame cracking the tender limbs still standing trying to let you know that harm being done not to me but to the others that were hungering and thirsting trying to breathe free but could not eat or care for self while you fattened the calf of your ego and expected us to stand like steel and be unbroken from the cracks in  the foundation you pretended were firm
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Bones and Blood

the bones of being exists for structure in frame as foundations of living and all the ands  standing and all the ands holding and all the ands held up by the  essence that flows from one to another like a circuit pulsing and rushing giving or not the whole of living the one of breathing two must exist together the knowing of being the one of living the other of holding the formation of both in the blood and bones the bones and blood what is on one is in the other both are  the being of being one not without the other the other without the one neither without life the be of being  in the blood and bones All Rights Reserved Copyright © 2021 by Antona B. Smith Pink Latte Publishing is a division of The Tayé Foster Bradshaw Group LLC Copyright 

2021

gazing across the waters                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            pondering                                                                                                                   PRESENT                                                                            in this moment                                                                                                                                                  of be-ing     View of the Atlantic, Guilford, CT, copyright, Antona Brent Smith

Black Mama Tears

It rained this afternoon Loud claps of thunder Almost couldn't see the rain For my tears falling down Black Mama Tears too many dying in their sleep on a run at a store too many stopped just walking just working just breathing It rained today And I couldn't see for all the weeping of Black Mamas.

If I Die In The Mourning

Life spilled out like unspent tears watering a desert of dried up promises scattered like sand on an ocean floor absent water and mist to quench love's thirst. Left shrivled up and parched in the bright sun of expectation that the perfect shell would open up like an oyster waiting for the pearl to drop. Lying on the bottom of the pebbled walk stepped on like shards of brilliant glass clouded by the wetness of blood poured out.

Lemonade by Beyoncé

Rarely, if ever, do I use my creative space to review another poet or creative's work, the reviews I do are on Tayé Foster Bradshaw's Bookshelf. This release by Beyoncé has rested in my spirit for the past day, on the end of a week where a childhood friend died unexpectedly from a stroke and aneurysm while her granddaughter was being born and a few days after learning that Prince unexpected died sending purple rain upon us all. It is only fitting that the week ended with imagery of my black woman, Creole Haitian heritage displayed with every bit of Yoruba spirituality and generations of mother's prayers. The poet, Warsan Shire, a Somalian born woman squarely in the womanist voicing of her millennial generation, has given her sisters, mothers, and foremothers a gift, the gift of acknowledgement. Sojourner Truth once asked, "Ain't I a Woman?" in a time when white womanhood was treated like a delicate flower, Beyoncé's musiciomentary seems to capture

Bridges by Tayé Foster Bradshaw

Walking across time ©Antona Smith, taken in Alabama, 2014 Bringing me to you or you to me over a way through- tears and fears to bring us to the other side of possibility probability reality reality crossing structures through over under Crossing from New Jersey. ©Antona Smith 2016 hold on don't look down look down walk on over dance on over wheels on over over over over water and roads and all the modes that bring me to you or you to me collectively connected collaborating across the great wide way ©2016. Tayé Foster Bradshaw Group, Antona Smith. All Rights Reserved. Bridges used to scare me as a little girl. In the town where I grew up, in order to get from my neighborhood over to the swimming pool or summer activities, we walked. I was always fine until we reached the crest of the hill and that looming structure that connect roads-to-roads, over cars zooming beneath, promising me opportunity on the other side, if I just