Child of Onyx:

Your tresses tower to the sky

Defiant.

That's what they call us

And yet the constellations call us

to keep building a ladder to heaven

because I know God is a Black woman

because I have felt Her.

Child of Coal:

Did you know coal takes millions of years to form?

Pressure.

We apply it

And yet who supplies it as we carry the energy of a nation

birthed through generations

from Auntie Harriet to the unnamed, unmarked grave?

Who will love us better than us?

Child of Obsidian:

Daughter. Mother. Sister. Friend.

Beautiful.

May you find your rest, nay, demand it

as a field of lilac demands water

as the soil is softened by the rain.

May you, too, find a soft place to land.

Always. Always.