Black Woman by Hazel Cherry

Black Woman

poetry by Hazel M. Cherry

I am not ruined. I am overworked. I have danced a thousand rhythms with my thighs, gave way to galaxies from my bosom. My delectable nectar has nurtured a thousand children.

I made meals to feed the systems discarded. Protested at rallies until my voice could no longer shout. I am not your backbone. I am your foundation. And I am weary.

I helped lead you to wholeness at the expense of my weakened bones. I am not an anchor. I am a survivor.

You drank from my chalices and made supple honey from my words. I am not a home maker. I am the home.

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