Small brown house, large
green door: Summer,
housed rollie pollies during
their leisure hours.
Rolling hills of green grass,
we loved to play with sticks of
varying lengths.
Smell the flowers, the trees—
Young Black children rolling
on skates, feeling free. My
sister; Zee, a tiny, turbulent
thing,
The Moxie to my Calm. See
Lannitra, Lee to some, and
Mommy to us. Her short Black hair and purple capris,
singing along to Michael
Jackson playing from the
open car door.
Shiloh, a baby then, his frail
right wrist wrapped in a white
cast.
His toothless grin widens as
Granny holds him. Daddy’s on
the way home from North
Carolina, his wide smile and
unusual cologne I loved to
smell.
Papa holding his camera,
Black and flashing. We begin
to see colors in our eyes, like
the ones we get when we
stare too long into the sun.
Then there’s me,
Eden: my denim shorts and
shy, quiet demeanor. But not
when I was singing,
Memorized Disney tunes and
feeling like a princess.
When I go to sleep, I’m on
Broadway,
a big-time actress, flowing
Black dress adorned with
sequins.
Loved by all, hated by none,
I am safe.
But when I wake up, it’s ten years later and
All I find is that I’m silent. Silenced.
Dark-skinned black girls like me are senselessly murdered
And prime suspects are let off without even a warning.
It is not safe for anyone who matches the color of my
Black skin.