BLACK PEARL
By Josè Angel Figueroa
Heart-shaped Africa is the axis of
My ancestral charcoal roots. I am
A black pearl mixed with the dust
Of a violet moon and brown
Sugar babies baptized in fire.
My rose-purple lips praise the
Faith of my great-grandmothers
Whose sweet, salty, and pungent
Heartstrings never cracked when
Singing the Black Folks’ blues.
My voice is the bitter cry of many
Oceans and crossroads. My tears
Are uprooted trees longing to
Return to sacred firewater.
My soul is entombed with the
Allure of lavender pouring
From the gifts of dawn.
I have torn down that massive
Veil which made me feel my
Existence was once a problem.
I will not bend. Be harnessed.
Kept silent. Be forbidden to
Bear my own fruits or dance
With the constellations.
My thunderous heart will turn
White sparks into a hot glare.
My story will be told without
The putrid disgust of hatred.
Africa did not make an
Outcast out of me.
Why does my Blackness
Still petrify you: Am I
Not the first daughter
Of the night?
By Josè Angel Figueroa
Heart-shaped Africa is the axis of
My ancestral charcoal roots. I am
A black pearl mixed with the dust
Of a violet moon and brown
Sugar babies baptized in fire.
My rose-purple lips praise the
Faith of my great-grandmothers
Whose sweet, salty, and pungent
Heartstrings never cracked when
Singing the Black Folks’ blues.
My voice is the bitter cry of many
Oceans and crossroads. My tears
Are uprooted trees longing to
Return to sacred firewater.
My soul is entombed with the
Allure of lavender pouring
From the gifts of dawn.
I have torn down that massive
Veil which made me feel my
Existence was once a problem.
I will not bend. Be harnessed.
Kept silent. Be forbidden to
Bear my own fruits or dance
With the constellations.
My thunderous heart will turn
White sparks into a hot glare.
My story will be told without
The putrid disgust of hatred.
Africa did not make an
Outcast out of me.
Why does my Blackness
Still petrify you: Am I
Not the first daughter
Of the night?
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