Poem

I am the clarion call
I am the woman in the principal's office insisting her child be considered for the honor's program.
I am the fine sister with her bright kinky hair and winning smile and business suit - the man with his white teeth and brown eyes ; spider on his shoulder, selling you the paper.

I am the one who was silenced
I am the one who once could not utter even a squeak.
I am one who broke chains about her throat and breathed deep.

I shout for myself and my people
I shout so that the sun can hear me
I shout so that the heavens may tremble
Heaven is a place of joyful praise after all
And if my words are not always sweet - bitter is a medicine too

I shout and I sing and I stretch
I am bright and I am prominent.
My voice is a sword and a fan and a comforting hand
My song will hold and slap in equal measure

Who am I?
What am I?
I am one who has found herself.
I hold the machete.
I clear the path.
I watch children run ahead of me and behind me, glorious in their freedom
I watch my elders have the space to observe their surroundings and motion to me so to whisper wisdoms on how better to cut and score, carve and demarcate.

I am the clarion call.
I am the beacon true in a sea of endless chatter
I hold gaze and disapproval on my shoulders, but sink my feet in and am steadfast.
I speak.
I sound the alarm.
I feel the blood on my lips but push further.

I am a living drum
Thunder
A rhythm
A movement
A heartbeat
I am many and I am singular
And I survive.

I am, myself.
I am whole.

The Remyth Project