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Weeping No More

My heart bleeds for my sons and daughters.

My heart bleeds for the lost sons and daughters of my mothers and mothers and fathers and fathers.

I look at the exposed parts and the swagger and the long shirts like a nightgown and the hats askew and I weep for the sons of my loins.

I look at the tight tight and the low low and the shake for notice and I weep for the daughters of my womb.

My eyes scan the horizon and I see the future and I weep for my promise.

I turn around and through the ocean of tears I see the mothers mothers who were snatched from their native shores

I see their their eyes lower in shame as their beauty in brown and black is put on display and taunted, and I weep for my daughters.

I see my strength in my fathers fathers in the wild of my heart land and

I see their eyes lower in shame as they are pulled and tugged with chains in front of their mothers mothers and I weep for my sons.

I close my eyes and I see the auction blocks and the whipping posts and the field and

I pull from the strength of my fathers to keep the beat of home alive in their hearts, the beat that reached my ears, the beat that comforted the mothers and the beat that is now our shame, and I weep for our sons and our daughters.

I close my eyes and I look in the future and I see no more weeping

I see them standing strong, in full attire, proud of the mothers tears that watered the garden of their promise

I smile and say, no more weeping my son and my daughter has learned.

They remember and they will wipe away the tears and make no more tears and they build and give and grow and learn and

No more tears

They will wear pride and cover and walk strong and tall, they will speak with the voice of my fathers fathers and they will love with the heart of my mothers mothers

They will make my heart bleed no more.




I first wrote this on April 19, 2007 in Lee's Summit MO in response to more news of the killings of black boys and attire of black girls. It was also in response to the misogyny in black music videos. It was well before the first primaries and before Barack Hussein Obama clinched the nomination. It was a prayer and a prophecy. It is submitted here now with hope as we prepare to inaugurate the nation's First Black President. I see a new day dawning in America.

I will weep no more. Change has come to America.

Comments

Anonymous said…
That was beautiful and hopeful and organic. It painted a picture of reality but also of hope for a better future. A wanting and a needing of a better future.

Lovely work.
This is so heartfelt and evocative. It's important to mourn and to dream of a better world.

I know so many of us feel that hope surging up in us with the Obama administration taking its place in history.

Janet Riehl
www.riehlife.com

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The Burden

This isn't mine anymore

What?

This.

She stretched out her hands
the parcel neatly wrapped
brown paper
with a
red bow

What is this?

Take it, it is your's.

But

No, it is not mine to carry
Anymore

What do you mean?

I mean that I am giving it back
it was never mine
anyway

I don't understand

You never did.

I don't want it.

Take it.

No.

So she
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And turned
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The package was never her's to hold.
So she let it go.


Tayé Foster Bradshaw is the poet's nom de plumme. She resides in a suburb of St. Louis surrounded by her family, her books, her pens, and her lattes.

This poem is inspired by the lives and burdens of many women, particularly women of color, who are forced to carry the cares, thoughts, and expectations of others without regard to their own wants, needs, and health. This poem is a release.




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.

Bridges by Tayé Foster Bradshaw

Walking
across time
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
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 trusted the weight of my tiny skinny nine-year-old self against the wind blowing or the sun streaming over this manmade steal structure.  My l…