wherein we entertain the notions of a creature embroiled in sorting multiple identities. is she a mother? a poet? a performer? an organizer? or is she simply the product of a feminist movement in which women dreamt that simultaneously singing opera, tap-dancing, spinning plates, spouting rhetoric and solving algorithms was liberation. here are the rough drafts.
one day, I will gather my White women.
every last last loving friend who ever said
"smh" or "no words" or "I can't believe that."
"this make me sad." "this hurts my heart."
I will ask them to kneel before me & cry
into a hand crafted amber vessel.
I will collect each facile drop. save it
for all times I am in danger.
that they can not be there to save me.
I will at least have this magic potion made
of the finest White woman water.
anoint the foreheads of my beloved boys.
it will save my friends from being dragged out
& drowned by my riptide heart. my tears are