laying with my laundry (prose)

I take my clothes out of the dryer immediately after the buzzer goes off.

I love how my hoodie holds onto the heat

and the muted aroma of the detergent my mama told me I should use

Today I threw my freshly dried clothes onto the bed and cast myself into their warmth.

While I lay in the linen,

I contended that this is my femininity.

I have some power here in this pile.

He always told me that doing the laundry was my job.

Maybe that's why I never did it.

Laying in my laundry made me realize that I do find joy in doing the task they say the women should do.

There’s something about a cycle that I understand so well.

I go through like 12 of them a year.

I lay in my laundry knowing that I completed another cycle. And I did it well.

I lay in the clothes that they stared me down in

I washed their gaze off of my linen.

Now I can breathe a little better.

I’m not mad at my mama or aunties for asking if I did my laundry

They knew how to lay with it before I did

I wish I learned sooner.

observation (prose)

Some formulations and combinations of words (sentences, paragraphs, whole works) speak to us so deeply and profoundly that we read or say them over and over.

About a month ago I listened to a discussion panel (on youtube) in which bell hooks formulated a combination of words into one of the most profound thoughts I have come into contact with so far. I replayed the part where she gives us this knowledge more than once.

That combination of words is as follows: 

“were you the observer or the subject of observation?”

Wow. These words have given me some clarity and description of the life I have lived so far. This blog post is my reflection.

I have been the object of observation my entire life.

I have been considered (or tracked) as a “gifted” student since first grade. This put me under the eyes of watchful adults. I was always in the hands of the red pen. It seemed that from a very young age I was observed not because of my ability, but observed to see if I could actually keep it up. From that point on, my life became a proving came. Everything I did was to prove something.

I think I was also observed because of the intersections of my race, centeredness, and my intelligence. Going from a public middle school to a predominantly white tuition-based high school put a high-powered magnifying glass over me. Once again, the question of “could she keep it up?” kept their eyes looking through the magnifying glass. In high school, I used to think of myself as the figurehead of my race and gender combination. There was no one else in my class who was able to speak about being a black woman in america. Now, having the language to call myself “the subject of observation” I would change the word ‘figurehead’ to ‘test subject’ or ‘specimen.’

 I question whether my presence was the entrance for those after me.

And athletics (this is the part where I talk about basketball). 

I see the court as “on display;” the audience behind a looking glass. Yes, basketball and sports, in general, are performance-based, and that warrants judgment, statistics, and opinions. But I can’t help but feel that my environment, Duluth Minnesota, hadn’t witnessed a player like me (in all of my racial and emotional centeredness) before and that made me even more sought after for observation. 

I am coming to this realization. 

And

I am questioning.

How long can one be observed before it’s too much? Have I ever been the observer? Do I even possess the power plus privilege to be one? Was I a fascinating subject of observation at least? Will I ever be able to escape the observation table? What does it feel like to escape observation?

The simple option is not quitting basketball or hiding under a rock.

I am actively rejecting (and not focusing on perfecting my rejection) the idea that every decision I make is being judged by my observers (who are usually my oppressors.) 

In lieu of that idea, I am pursuing a life rooted in freedom. 

Freedom to come, freedom to go.

Freedom to stand up, freedom to lay low.

Freedom to dance, to cry,

Freedom to say “fuck it” and not answer why.

So, have you been the observer or observed?

poetry is not my thing

“The white fathers told us: I think, therefore I am. The Black mother within each of us–the poet–whispers in our dreams: I feel, therefore I can be free. Poetry coins the language to express and charter this revolutionary demand, the implementation of that freedom.” (Poetry is Not a Luxury)

It seems at some of my darkest, loneliest, most confusing times, I turn to poetry. I have come to this realization, recently, by rediscovering and opening up journals and going through the attic of my notes app. 

Poetry has never been my thing, but I have been able to put words together and give voice to my emotions due to poetry’s tolerance and boundless range. Poetry is forgiving. Poetry has no requirements.

“Poetry is Not a Luxury” is one of my favorite works by Audre Lorde. The piece is a call to action for women to write poetry, as we have done for centuries, and use it as power. While stumbling across some of my poems, it has dawned on me that I now have the ability to share and give light to my internal thoughts. I now have the platform to fulfill Audre Lorde’s call, and use my poems as power, even if it’s not my strong suit. 

So, I put before you, four poems, dated, untitled, and written with no restraints–giving my words and emotions validation–as my idol told me to.

“amazing grace

how sour her name

shes loud and bold and voices her needs

one who doesn't save a wretch nor king

she’s been lost,

but who hasn’t

she found herself in the early morning

to keep

they kept her blind

but now

she sees”

1/5/22

“Fly me to the moon

Where I can rest my eyes

In the ultimate darkness

I’ll get the best sleep of my life

Because on the moon,

You cant get sensory overload.”

1/2/22

“I am who I am.

Pieces and fragments of who i once was remain

Broken and shattered, of course,

But I am breaking out of my previous mold.

I think the most crucial question is,

Should I keep the pieces for safekeeping?”

12/21/21

“I'm calling myself a genius because I think geniuses think like me, a genius.

I've seen the world take its first steps

I've seen the world take its last breath

I know what you are going to say before you say it and I know what you said before you said it

I've heard humanity’s secrets

The coverups too

I know that somewhere isn't really somewhere but everywhere if we can just get there

I'm a genius because I cracked the fucking code

The one thing they don't tell you about being a genius

However

Is, you lose the fun of being fought,

The sadness of seclusion

The excitement of entering

The pleasure of people

I guess that's why we’re so hard to come by”

4/19/22

“But women have survived. As poets. And there are no new pains. We have felt them all already. We have hidden that fact in the same place where we have hidden our power. They surface in our dreams, and it is our dreams that give us the strength and courage to see, to feel, to speak, and to dare.” (Poetry is Not a Luxury)