• For “Colored-Female” Intellects: A Love Letter

    I see you sister. The slick of your edges, the calm curl of your lips just lying in wait to speak, the frequent flutter of your eyelashes as you go on searching for the right quote in the passage. And while your hand often waves out, honey brown amongst a sea of white, glazed over by the professor until the last bell rings; I see you, even when they don’t.

HC Davidson

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