Kylie Smoking, Stroking and putting on Makeup
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wondering what it must be to embrace her, to be exhaled by her, to return to her.
She was the kind of black girl who had been told as a ***** that she better be smart because her looks wouldn't save her.
Told as a young woman that she was really pretty for a dark-skinned girl.
There was all about her a knowledge of cosmic injustices.
The same knowledge I'd glimpsed all those years ago watching the golden hair boys with their toy trucks and football cards and dimly perceiving the great barrier between the world and me.
Nothing between us was ever planned, not even you.
We summoned you out of ourselves,
and you were not given a vote.
You deserved all the protection we could muster.
There was before you, and then there was after.
And in this after, you're the God I never had.
I submitted before your needs, and I knew then
that I must survive for something more than survival's sake.
I must survive for you.
Born in August.
Son, the struggle is in your name, Sumori.
You were named for Sumori Ture, the struggle against the French colonizers for the right to his own black body.
He died in captivity, but the profits of that struggle are ours, even when the object of our struggle escapes our grasp.
None of us were promised to end the fight on our feet, fists raised to the sky.
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