I am from red Georgia clay roads that I call home whose dust sweetly greets me like a southern melody.
I am from Southwest Dekalb high school newspapers that changed my destiny and R&B mixtapes made from the radio by an only child in her mother’s brick condo.
I am from Atlanta, Decatur, Manchester, Eatonton, Virginia, Cameroon/Congo, Ivory Coast/Ghana, Benin/Togo, Mali, and sweet magnolia trees that smell like kindness and honeysuckle blossoms that make you feel like summer’s never gonna end.
I am from 80-year-old pecan giants in my grandmother’s country yard, trees who graciously gave me shade to play under and memories that could be kept no matter the seasons.
I am from 1989 roller skates raced in after school in elementary hallways and pink and white hula hoops balanced on little hips, rolled around necks and circled around skinny ankles,
I am from James and Gloria, from love that wanted to work and stay together but the words couldn’t hold tight to explain why they didn’t.
I am from Lena’s deep goodness and Lucille’s honey love,
From Essie Mae’s sugar-baby kisses, grandmamas and great aunts whose smiles and cheekbones keep speaking through me in adulthood and whose resilience caught my tears and made me feel that I was seen and known and beautiful and valuable and special because I belonged to them.
I am from black-eyed peas and collard greens enjoyed every New Year’s Day,
From peppermint sticks eaten near old southern gas heaters and Auntie’s candied carrot souffle.
I am from Gloria’s confidence that walked integration into Atlanta’s civilian divisions in the decade that followed Dr. King’s Dream,
And from James’ brilliance that fused wild creativity expeditiously, almost instinctively into my blood and bones.
I am from asymmetrical bangs cut into layers and crimped tresses that were so fly in ‘96,
From the moments that sit on the edge of perfect harmonies heard over Sony Discmans when you’re innocent enough to dream about everything,
I am from pens and paper that made poems who won statewide contests,
And faith in Him nurtured nearly 20 years that’s sustained me when I’m beautiful and kept me when I’m broken.
I am from my mother’s smile and my father’s eyes.
I am from red Georgia clay roads that I call home whose dust sweetly greets me like a southern melody.
I hold onto that dust. It brings me closer to myself than I realize as it gives me freedom to be willing to fly.
