New Big 6 steps up to bat

I am from the silk wrapped around my grandmother’s hair Laying still as she kneels to pray From the words of the forgotten tongue that I had known before Whispered into my ear before I rested my eyes I am from the smell of coconut oil and shea moisture Spending endless hours in my mom’s lap waiting for my hair to be done

I am from the broken heart of European standards The little girl praying that her hair would be straight I am from the long hours in the mirror with makeup brushes Painting on a face to hide my flaws

I am from the fear of red and blue flashing lights The tears of the mothers that look into glass eyes From the chanting, fist-raising, signs in the air Clasped hands and soft prayers Tears of joy when things work out

I am from the opening of bright red eyes Awoken by the harmonizing of Lauryn Hill and D’Angelo on Sunday mornings I am from the sweet smell of rain before it even touches the pavement The water dripping off my north face I am from the stories of “back in my day” and “enjoy your youth” While the grandmas and tt’s two-step to old r&b classics I am from the old steep cement stairs that I used to scrape my knee on Running from my cousin in a game of tag I am from the hope of a never-ending childhood Only to be shut down by reality

Woman

By Emslie Kenall

Tall and high as a mountain She holds herself with dignity Misty clouds disguise all faults Despite the need for warmth

The cold strikes from all directions Wanting to suppress her And even though she never cracks Oh, does she ever want to

But the pain would never cease And if she were to fall to the dirt, dirt ground She’d never touch the sky again She’d never see the clouds

So she walks through the agony Perseveres through the pain Flowers sprout from every print As her fragile structure decays And as her body deteriorates Her knees begin to buckle But she’s come so far to give up now So she responds with a lighthearted chuckle

Through rain and shine Through dirt and grime She continues through her journey

And never will she end it Till the scent of pollen fills the air, Grass satisfies barren, empty brown, And the orange and pink Of her carefully laid petals Carry sunset to the ground