Poem No. 12
By David Mills
After Sonia Sanchez’ A Blues Book for Blue Black
Magical Women
gather up your odors and listen
--Sonia Sanchez
Estrogen, we’ve raced down streets
where vomit was an alarm we couldn’t stop.
Testosterone, I’ve picked your past
from my teeth. Now, its Fannie Lou, Olokun, Sweet
Honey, TCB: Toni Cade Bambara. Every day. Now,
we take communion from the hormone tabernacle choir.
Mother Mary? Mama Sukey! The architect
has not built the father so when a child craves
manly advice we escort him to the peppermint house.
There are times when words have to sucker punch
the world, so we’ll hit the deck with our fists
clenched. And if we’re flung from cruelty’s
cancelled windows, we’ll dust off
the indifference. We women who had to crawl
out of our own thoughts to think, we will not
let our hopes clot into half-eaten evenings.
And in a world that cannot stand
our answering: we’ll roar.
By David Mills
After Sonia Sanchez’ A Blues Book for Blue Black
Magical Women
gather up your odors and listen
--Sonia Sanchez
Estrogen, we’ve raced down streets
where vomit was an alarm we couldn’t stop.
Testosterone, I’ve picked your past
from my teeth. Now, its Fannie Lou, Olokun, Sweet
Honey, TCB: Toni Cade Bambara. Every day. Now,
we take communion from the hormone tabernacle choir.
Mother Mary? Mama Sukey! The architect
has not built the father so when a child craves
manly advice we escort him to the peppermint house.
There are times when words have to sucker punch
the world, so we’ll hit the deck with our fists
clenched. And if we’re flung from cruelty’s
cancelled windows, we’ll dust off
the indifference. We women who had to crawl
out of our own thoughts to think, we will not
let our hopes clot into half-eaten evenings.
And in a world that cannot stand
our answering: we’ll roar.
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Photograph ©️Susan J. Ross