Once
Upon a Time I Was Just Woman
You have called
me a strong Black woman.
You have called me an African queen.
But did you forget once upon a time I was just Woman?
I was innocent.
I was naked.
I was green.
You have called me a beautiful
sista.
You have called me a Queen of the Nile.
But did you forget once upon a time I was just Woman?
I was daughter.
I was girl.
I was child.
For to worship my beauty is fine.
And to celebrate my strength is sweet.
But in the process, do not become blind.
I have a soul.
I have tears.
I am weak.
Give me your burdens- I will take them.
But help me up when they weigh my body down.
Ask of me promises, I will make them.
Just promise to love me even without this crown.
For you to love my chocolate skin is sexy.
And for you to praise my success is what I need.
But you have forgotten to nurture and protect me.
I hurt.
I cry.
I bleed.
I’ll be your brown sugar Black queen or your strong single
mother.
I’ll be your honey bee Superwoman and love you like no other.
I’ll be all of that if you can love all of me—
Not only my strength and power,
But my weakness and vulnerability.
Sometimes I can’t be a strongblackwoman.
Because that is not all of SHE.
Sometimes I just want to be WOMAN.
Let me laugh.
Let me sing.
Let me Be.
Copyright© Kalisha Buckhanon
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Lifeblood
(For Reiko)
The ballot or the
bullet,
Malcolm said
with thunder in his voice
and no conk in his head.
Now we can vote,
yet in my bed at night I hear
the POP POP POP of ghetto slaughter
and the TICK TICK TICK of silent fear.
PUSH people PUSH,
Sapphire said
with a ring in her nose
and the crown of a bald head.
Now we have the power,
but outside my window I can’t see
the push for love, for change, for life;
only for complacency, envy and strife.
Niggas is scared of Revolution,
The Last Poets guessed,
with pride and unity,
standing tall, beating their chests.
Today there is a struggle,
but what exactly is it FOR?
So a few can hear the ka-ching
of clothes, whips, cash and bling?
The Revolution will not be televised,
Gil Scott-Heron warned
with a prophet’s eye and
contempt for media’s swarm.
Last week 65 million voted
and it wasn’t at the polls,
but an American Idol frenzy,
How many know Bush, Obama or Kerry?
I could not stop
for death,
Emily Dickson penned.
But today, the babies are dying
because the parents have sinned.
They say,
“Death be not kind;
you don’t have to stop for me.
I’ll just keep on killing myself
with drugs, forties and apathy.”
Like the animal we now think
And not like the huMAN.
We have no hope, no escape,
No ABCXY or Z plan.
It is the wolf who gets stuck in the trap
and licks his lifeblood as it drains
rather than bite off his caged foot
and free his whole body from a chain.
He licks and licks and licks
not knowing his blood is his own.
He believes he is in a dream,
Until he dies
slowly,
quietly,
unnoticed,
alone.
How is that we now think as those
who bleed to death in white snow?
No,
I say to my people.
NO. GROW. KNOW.
My people,
stop dreaming.
Wake up.
We’re bleeding.
Copyright© Kalisha Buckhanon
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As
We Lie Imperfect and Finally Naked,
Ready to Make Love for the First Time
We are
as weak as the newborn bird
thrown from its nest,
suffering on a summer sidewalk.
We are
as vulnerable as the sunlight
coping with faded glory,
conquered by a cloudy day.
We are
as naïve as the wilting bouquet
thirsting for daybreak so it can rise,
not knowing its patient
will not make it through the night.
We are
as forgettable as the lost baby doll
waiting to be found and taken home,
not knowing its owner
could not see through the field of dandelions.
Yet we still try to outrun the sun.
We dream we can walk on water.
We imagine hearts will forever beat.
We sometimes forget God.
We teeter on the tightrope of scandal,
in search of everlasting bliss.
Instinct points our way to the ocean’s edge.
Dare we live like the oft-passed roadkill
that has died in its prime
and was once beautiful,
whole,
gallant,
valiant—
daring to cross the road,
daring to stare into headlights,
daring to look life in its eye?
Do we dare defy reason
and fall in love
with each other tonight?
©Kalisha Buckhanon
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