She is a tower of strength
Her beauty coveted and unparalleled
Clothed in robes of gold,
and warming and welcoming in ways
we wish wearily for.
They call her Joy.
We spend our lives searching for her
in empty homes
Seeking to fill heartless holes
we call it happiness
But Joy evades us
Joy is a Black woman
(all things full of creation are)
basking in the beauty of beautiful rainshowers
smiling and singing
about the sun that succumbs to the necessary downpour
Daring to wet her coiled, kinky, cocky locks
by the tsunami of cleansing
that begets around her.
Joy is pancakes after sleepless nights –
The knowing that sustenance from the sweet syrup
sticks to your soul
and invites sleep on slow Sunday mornings
As rest is refreshing whenever it agrees with us.
Joy is running
Backed with the strength of our ancestors
who softly whisper “freedom”
as you run zig zag through fields of familiar and forgotten wildflowers.
the crossroad of acceptance and liberation.