Thursday, July 29


I am a black man.I was planted in deep, loamy, black soil by my black father.Cradled, cultured and coaxed out like a tuber of yam by my black mother.Though I came from one womb, I am birthed by many mothers – some of skin like bark and timber, some of eyes of yellow like cassava.I have a scandalous affinity with shadows in this here regime of light.I know the suffering, the shame of being late no matter how punctual I get.I want to be held and seen and known, to be allowed the luxury of variance.I still feel the stings of a thousand lashes on my ancestral back, the cuts bleeding into my dawn, haunting my dusk.This justice, this one promised by your identity politics, it makes room for me, I thank you.Though this room is a dank cell with no bleeding windows. I cannot fly here.It holds me c...