To Be Raised By A Black Woman

Sunday morning

Corn muffins, sausage, scrambled eggs

All to be consumed before Mass at 11:30 am

And we better not be late

Or else God is going to have another angel

“Can Kachi come outside and play today?”

You cross your arms and tilt your head

Mhm.

You better be in the house before the street lights come on

Equipping me with just enough cash

for a popsicle from the Mr. Softy truck

She has the kind of love that holds you tight

and rocks you back and forth

The one that asks if you’ve eaten today

and feeds you despite your answer

That kind of love that moves mountains

and parts the sea

The first mother was a Black woman

A legacy reincarnated again and again

to perform the greatest acts of mankind

My Black momma showed me who God was

and confirmed that She is indeed a Black Woman