Pink Lattes and A Slice of Poundcake

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.

Slaughtered - - - daily for the unpardonable Sin of being born female in a black body that simply wants to  live  

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 ...

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...

She sat down to look around her and wondered - what - happened -to -her -life waiting for time to be on her side to be - wanted noticed appreciated LOVED until she sat  up stood up reached up ...and walked out screaming at the top of her lungs silently tired of waiting ... to be loved to be nurtured to be wanted to be admired to be needed so she ran into the arms of herself and ... found her love. loved herself and nurtured herself and wanted herself and encouraged herself and and and ROARED I AM HERE AND I AM WORTH IT then she flipped her hair and shashayed to her brighter tomorrow. River City Sisters Speak Currents ™ ©2016  – All Rights Reserved. Tayé Foster Bradshaw is a poet, writer, essayist, nurturer, teacher, mother, wife, mentor, teacher in the St. Louis suburban area.

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.                                                                                                                                             ...

Opaque Covered Dark Cloudy ----Until scrubbed   Clear Transparent Crystal ----Until smudged Until ----Invisible---- Because Unseen Unnoticed Unwanted