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Mama Tayé's Elder's Prayer, Sharing Five

Mama Tayé's Elder Prayer, Sharing Five

The sun rises and kisses us into a new day even as the darkness in the hearts of the land hopes to discourage and disassemble a righteous cause, we shine bright and keep shining for truth, honor, justice, and life.
Let us who are conscious stand in the healing warmth of the sun's rays, knowing that as the sun shines down on one of us, renewing and reviving, the same sun shines down on a collective us. WE are stronger together.
When we are weary from the endless fight and the false apologies, let us hold each other up and protect the voices that were once lost, let us support and be the oracle for the ones telling us justice is still unserved in our land.
May we press and keep pressing even as they throw out token and we ponder the actions of a burned memorial quickly rebuilt and peace in a place they want to destroy.
The pride of the mothers rests in the sons who protected and promised to stay out, speak out, and stand in front of power to proclaim the truth of their actions, even as the ones with the official pens try to skew their words, they took to their own devices to let us know, "we got this."
Hold on, people of the sun and sand, hold on and walk together, build together, it is the joining of one to another one that is feared the most.
Even as mothers met mothers and shared a painful truth of the Talk, let us remember their words and hope the other mothers take the challenge of what do they tell their sons to make them kill our sons, and let us keep talking and keep writing and keep marching and keep saying, because our lives do depend on our voice.
May we stay unified in a struggle that is centuries old and be strategic in our quest for righteousness.
May we who speak and call, call out to the ONE who IS and know that we are led in this divine moment, brought together in this divine place to fulfill a divine destiny, may we remain diligent.
Journey on, march on, speak on, the victory is near.
Asé, Mama Tayé, Elder's Prayer

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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
dropped
it
right
where
she stood.

And turned
and walked away.

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…