A Soft Place to Land
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.
-Pam R. Johnson Davis
Native Tongues/Living Water
Our native tongues were different but
somehow we spoke a mutual
language
Me with my life-giving aura
You with eyes that see past
flesh and bone
To seek the soul
That would give you
A taste of living
water
and even with my timidness
You gave me your trust and
even when I was uncertain
You held steady and
even when I hesitated
You still believed
That although our native tongues were different
We would share a mutual language
You were right
-Pam R. Johnson Davis
- 10:15 AM
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