I am the mother of a black woman
Was called a nigger lover, black mans whore
By rabid rednecks raised with hate and war
Spat at by misogynist, racist bigots on city streets
Was I angry, hurt, sad? Hell no … hell yes, but not for me
For my girls who would have to face the world on their own terms
And when my Mama said: In whose world will they belong?
I had to wait eighteen years to say Barak Obama’s world! Yes they can!
When my girl started crumping at kindy, not dancing like a fairy
Tutted and sneered at, as though this was dirty! Not what nice girls do!
No that’s Africa dancing in her veins!
I’ve carried Africa in my womb, the spirit of joy and hope
I’ve carried rhythm and blues, jazz and soul
Rap and hip hop have mixed with my blood.
When my girls sass me, moving like Jamaican mamas
I see two spunky, beautiful human beings
You may look at me and see privilege, middle class
Aryan poster girl! But I am the mother of a black woman
So I cry alone, because I will never know their struggle
I will never know their pain, when society tells them, statistics tell them
That on the pyramid of power; they are the lowest of the low.
So I pray for my daughter with long coffee limbs
Poised in the illusions of our society.
Will her skin open doors or prejudice?
Will her beauty bring her sycophants or fools to tear her down?
What myths and memories from that ancient Dark Continent
Weave with the primordial ghosts and Celtic songs of her forebears
To make struggles and blessings in her Amazonian form?
Find your own rhythm, untamed by your mulatto biography.
Emerge from conditions, perceptions, assumptions, addictions
To have a conversation with yourself, strange yet familiar
Moving clouds of feeling; fear, sorrow, anger and joy, they pass
Let your imagination navigate the gifts that only you can give yourself.
Do not be afraid, be gentle with yourself, turn your eyes in
Beyond doubt and dismay, the judgment of others
Receive a mothers blessing: Love yourself. Be Kind. Receive love.
Because I am the mother of a black woman
My solidarity is with the poor and oppressed
Like Eugene Debs I recognise my kinship with every living thing…
I am not one bit better than the meanest on the earth
Whilst there is suffering and poverty. I am not free.
