Author: Monet Debose

(2nd iteration of Ode to my Alma Mawrtyr)

Anassa Kata,

Wind rushing past my face, glazing my scalp
Air filling the depts of my lungs increasing my insulin levels
Overlooking the campus’s field stuffed with busy bees and vibrant flowers

Today is the day we graduate

Remembering our time over these past four years has felt much like a dream
The reality of us walking across this stage has never been an image of mine
Until now

I have to be honest and say that my days
Did not always end in Flowers
Or Oreo Cream Pie from Hafner Dining Hall

The truth is I used to think I did not belong here
In a place where I rarely saw anyone who reflected
My dark brown skin and kinky hair

I found myself asking if I made the right decision
If the money was worth it
And when would I fit in, calling this place my home

It has been clear in these past four years,
Especially this last one that the sun does not always shine, but yet
we still felt the humidity of it

Radiating on our back reminding us that our future is still yet to be attained
Pushing us to continue the path that our previous Mawtrys started
and to leave a foundation well enough for those after us to continue to pave

One thing that we can say
Is that we made it

We made it through the stress of midterms and finals
Through the weird but yet comforting evening of Lantern Night

Standing in the center
On my beloved soon to be alma mater
I thank you for the beauty and pain

For the four years that pushed me to grow
And while it was not in the best conditions
It was well needed

I can say that I am now full
Of the hope that continues to dwell on this campus
Of love and laughter that May Day brought me

You did well, you did well
You allowed me to see a side of myself that I never knew existed
And taste the savories of your seasons

And now it’s time to prepare myself for summer.

Bryn Mawr, Bryn Mawr, Bryn Mawr.

 

My finger caressed       thigh

lips                  mine

I don’t know how I feel about this because this is

But       are experimenting

Then        mother walked in on us

Under the sheets

And asked us

“Who told you to do this”

No answer.

Disappointment fills my mother’s face

We never speak of it again

Not even with my

I wonder does     even remember…

Anasa Kata,

Wind rushing past my face glazing my scalp
Air filling the depts of my lungs increasing my insulin levels
Overlooking the campus’s field stuffed with busy bees and vibrant flowers

Remembering my time over these past four years has felt much like a sweet dream
With a serving of Oreo cream pie to enhance my sensory

Even on days where the sun did not always shine I felt the humidity of it
Walks in the early morning seeing the geese take their first flight of the day
Sights that will never escape me

Or the sounds of chatter and giggles that surround the Cherry Blossoms in April
Are like the sounds of momma bird singing to her new born children.

I used to think I did not belong here
On my beloved soon to be alma mater
But then I found myself standing the center of a building with a red lantern in my hand

Wondering why I felt so weirded out but yet so comfortable with people singing and staring at me in black robes without my consent

I knew then, this school was pleasantly unsettling
And now I find myself in the middle of spring with no sun

But feeling the humidity of it

Four years later, digested every Radorween,
Picnic on Erdman green, and pool table games in Campus Center

I can say that I am now full
Of Stress and tears that finals week gave me and
Of love and laughter from MAYHWEIFD that followed

You did well, you did well
You allowed me to see a side of nature that I never knew existed
And taste the savories of your seasons

And now you, momma bird, momma owl are now allowing me to take my first steps.

Bryn Mawr, Bryn Mawr, Bryn Mawr.

This poem is from the mind of a 10-year-old girl a prologue to 12 Years Ago.

Fingers drifting softly through the soft fabric
Examining the thread twist and turns

 

How could it be so light but yet so dark outside
The feeling illuminates my body and finds itself housing itself in me
How can I escape
I need a vacation from reality and to take a trip on the islands
Full of people who act like there is no work to be done
The only thing is that when the trip is over
work finds itself on the front porch

Free me from this mindset
Clear my thoughts and create a new and refreshing creature in me
I do bad things and I know what I do
I am a bad girl and want people to know to
I am darkness and so are my actions
Leave me alone and let me defeat this on my own
Leave me alone
Alone I will be
Sleeping in the bed I made and suffering for only the sake of me

Help me
Do you hear my cry
Why must I battle these demons while you just stand by
Why must you allow me to go through this

 

(2^nd iteration of Breakthrough)

In this home that is drenched in pain and suffering.
Where the land we walk on leave the bottom of our shoes rotten by the blood that was shed.
Walking on the remains of dead fruit that Eve decided to indulge in.
Did she know that her hands would be the same ones that would tie the nooses around our necks, handle the whip across our backs, hold the glock that would take her sons and daughters’ life?
Maybe she would have thought twice, if she would’ve seen our ancestors throwing themselves over board because they believed that life after death would have been so much more than this.
It seems to me that pain follows the scents of dark chocolate.
They must sense me as sweet.
And while, “sweet” is usually a word I take delight in This aint the same taste I have after I eat a large meal and I need something “sweet”
It’s a sweetness that knows that the fruit that God created was intended to satisfy my every need,
But Eve disobeyed, and now that sweetness that left her licking the tips of her fingers is the sweetness that I just can’t stand, that keeps me awake at night, that keeps me from doing right.

Why does it feel like this weight that hovers of the back of me is called Blackness?

But in spirit-u-ality it is called sin.

Ain’t it crazy that the world got us thinking that our melanated deliciousness was God’s mistake?
Sin re-writes history books because it knows when it does wrong.
Back then, when I was sitting in my middle school classroom reading words from Langston Hughes about how: “I’ll be at the table When company comes.”

Finally, having a seat at the table.

Not realizing God has already prepared a table for me in the presence of my enemies

That He anointed my head with oil and my cup runneth over

Sin must not have known that surely Goodness and Mercy will follow me all the days of my life

And I that I will dwell in the house of the Lord, Forever

And even if sin did know, even if Eve did know what the consequences would be

The Lord still would have been there protecting me,

Still holding me up so that I won’t even hurt my foot on a stone,

And promising me that even if my heel got bruised that I would crush the serpents head,

This is what allows me to live, To be,

To focus on the one who painted me hickory sweet,

Sweet like the pie made on holidays or the sound of Anita Baker on cleaning day,

I realize that I was made for a purpose,

That my dark skin, that my dreadful history, maybe a part of my make-up, but will never be the end of my story,

Amen.

(Derived from The Sin of Eve)

One of my favorite holidays is Thanksgiving.

It’s a time where my family from all over Texas comes together
and enjoys a feast of food

However I only come for one thing:
To indulge myself in my cousin’s famous

Strawberry Cake

What makes it famous
is her ability to bring forth all of the flavors of its
Sweetness
Into one item of dessert.

Something I think about often about is
how something so
Sweet

Can lead to a deadly disease,
like diabetes.

Something that brings me so much joy
Can potentially be the same thing that causes my life to end.

Really, God would agree that it already has.

(Brought our life to an end.)

I think we can all thank Eve for that.

Since I was a child I have been walking bear foot on the landmines of her consequences of the fruit that she indulged in.

I’ve crawled on Peaches of Pain
Stumbled on Apples of Blood
Walked on Oranges of Tears

But can I blame her…
For eating the forbidden fruit?

I mean at Thanksgiving there’s
Pecan Pie, Peach Cobbler, and even my favorite
Sweet Potato Pie
But nothing compares, NOTHING, to my cousin’s

Strawberry Cake.
Excuse me,

Famous Strawberry Cake.

In a lot of ways I am just like her
(Eve, my mother)

Staring at the table full of desserts, I hear only one of them calling my name
So I grab the knife that sits to its left
Cut myself a piece and wait for death to catch up to me.

 

Why do I have to be here?

To sit and think about the pain that follows the scent of dark chocolate?

To prove my glory to the masses

Yelling from the mountain top that I am worthy

Will this reminder ever stop?

I try to hide my face in the clouds, but I hear those marching feet in the depths of my soul

They tell me that I am a slave

That Langston’s words were mere blindless hope

Is this seat at the table what he was describing?

Have we even left the kitchen?

 

 

Mouth fixed

Eyes blinded by the stories told

Is there a such thing as breaking free?

This large weight that hovers on the back of me.

Would they see me differently if I choose to leave this place be?

To fly among the birds and flow like the sea

How can anybody hold on for thing long?

I am too tired

Too weak to crawl this ever-evolving race of defeat

I yell out to God “Let me Be, Prepare a place for me where things aint this beat”

To be black is to be tough

Is to hold on to too much

 

Eyes closed; Deep breathe

She fells sound asleep to the gospel song her mom played for her when she was just a wee

Peace subsides, patience awaits her when rises

The sun gleaming from her bedroom window beaming on her face

God has given her another day

To live. To be. To cast her cares on the one who painted her hickory sweet.

Sweet like the pie made on holidays or like the sounds of Anita Baker on cleaning day

She realizes she was made with a purpose

That her Creator made her for His glory.

Dark skin, dreadful history may be apart of her makeup, but will never be the end for her story.

 

A noun I have a complicated relationship with

It itched my back when I needed saving
Only to find out the saving I needed was from it

It has brought me to a place where I am today
Grown
But it will also expose my darkest secrets
the ones I don’t share so easily
at all

It creeps on me when I am laying on my bed
Touching my leg, my stomach, my chest
I feel… A sensation that I am trynna to shake.
I shouldn’t feel like this.

14 years of age with the body conscious of a 40-year-old
If her mother knew…
But what I  needed was a hand that knew no
knowledge of the pains that secrets give birth to
role models that a young child should look up; whose
feelings of pleasure that were let loose

If her mother knew, what she was dealing with
Maybe she would have said something sooner
Directed her path along a road that was purer
Somewhere she could truly be free
But now she stuck with a laying of a hand
On her thigh, her naval, her breast.

Language sounds so beautiful isn’t it?

But how would it sound if I said it the way I remember it. It was my pussy, my titties, my sex. The only thing that I knew and I wanted was what’s next. Was that too much for you to handle? Well me too…

Now I’m stuck in the in between

I
and
Her
We have a complicated relationship
Sometimes I love her
don’t know her

Sometimes her back itch
and others it don’t

It all depends on what noun I stroke
sometimes.