Walking
He meant to say:
“I never met a lyrical goddess
That uses hyphens and haikus
To prove that really
God is.
I thought Nefertiti was dead
And never wanted to believe
In queens
Except queen bees like Little Kim.
Who etched the Milky Way
On the small of your back
So Saturn’s rings shake
Every time your hips sway?
I watched your walk
Uprooting the cement
And thought if only for a sec
The Sun would fingerpaint my face
And you’d stop walking towards Mecca.
Lady.
Emit soul in my direction,
I would lap Nazareth just to follow and learn.”
But he said:
“Ayo ma!
Don’t you know your curves
Tingle my nerves?
Let me rephrase,
You walking from school
That means you must mean you got good brain
And I would love to arrange
Some tutorin’.
And with his eyes I let him amputate me.
Sever my shins
So when he wished
I’d already be
On my knees
Promising quarter plastic rings,
He proposed I squeeze a queendom
In one size smaller apple bottom jeans
And then I could really be wifey.”
Told me,
God was missing me since I fell from the sky.
And though his metaphor was clever,
I could never smile
Cuz every night since I was nine,
My daddy told me
I really was an angel.
Every night he’d sing me flat lullabies.
He’d make me promise to always walk like a woman did.
With the sons of a nation complacent in the crook of your neck
And the prayers of pigtailed
Potential up the side of your ribcage
Like vines.
Balance you children’s infinities
On your hips
And carry your divinity on your chin
And try not to trip
Walk hard, little angel.
He meant
Even when massas have tied your tongue
To your soft palate
And given you a bounty of Ebonics
Manage to sing
When they’ve only written blues
In your key
Write your own melody.
That’s how a woman walks.
So I sang the sharp harmonies
To my daddy’s bedtime stories,
Back when I used to hide
Candy wrappers in pockets of jeans.
Now we hide condom wrappers
And Daddy
I’m scared I’ve forgotten your lyric,
Cause every song I start
It ends with “Shawty!”
And every time I walk
Someone calls “Shawty!”
We used to sip cherry pop
Now we count cherries popped.
Used to knock at pinatas,
Now by quinceanera
We rock hips,
Blast the treble
On the track,
Show the small of our backs.
There are no galaxies there!
Our skin doesn’t shine
Like a Sun
But burns,
As if every shooting star
We ever wished upon
Lands on our laps.
We used to claim ourselves
As daughters of Eve
But I figure we must be
A lost generation of apple trees
Serpents
Since everytime I walk
Someone wants to “Psssst” at me!
“Yo Mami!”
“Yo Baby!”
Your mommies
Your babies.
If you lifted your eyes from her breasts,
Maybe you’d see your sister in her face
And hear her heart
Trying to break free from her chest.
I’m still walking.
Cause I promised my Daddy
I’d never rest.
He told me,
Woman walk hard
And I’ve been walking ever since.
My feet aren’t clean.
I’ve got corns for every corner
I’ve ever been called pretty,
And my soles
Are calloused for every
Step after that
Before he said he was only kidding
But does believe
He has a bright future in my jeans.
When I say
My soul is calloused,
I’m asking my daddy
To reteach me those lyrics,
And to the ten year olds
On these streets
That still hopscotch
But suck more than butterscotch,
I implore you.
Teach them.
Back to these little boys
Who play with rubber toys,
That teach them how to be soldiers
But never how to be fathers.
Bullet-proof vests
And hands gestured
In silent G’s
We teach them how to be gangstas
So when they gon’ find
Time to dream?
Teach them how to ice swollen wounds
Where infants of ignorance
Tug at dry placentas
Of women who cannot give any longer.
I want to piece back
The words to that song
Her Body Is Sacred There
And, His Mind Is Stronger.
But I can’t teach you how to say it.
I’m too busy
Walking.
-Zora Howard
