In ample thighs

Belying their presence as adornments

To the temples of my sisters

Old souls breathe

In the comfort of chocolate thickness

That suffocates Africa’s angels

Who dance to the rhythm

Of the universe’s womb

Though they cannot feel

Its origins in their veins

Blessed am I to be loved

In the temple of my own skin

My nappy center kisses the sun

In harmony divine

Devoid of the ugly

That does not know this as God

But the sons of oppression

Never gave sisters loaves

To feed the hungry fury in their bellies

Nor did they teach them to fish for spirit

So I pray to the voices

That whisper in my soft curves

For the lionesses of my blood

To hear the songs of the cool reeds

To feel the green blood beat of cataclysm in their breasts

And to know the embrace of freedom in nourishing silences

Where their radiant ebony vessels are reflections of their souls


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