now thats a thought ain’t it?

what is the sun-
is it just gas, really? movement?
ancestor spirits?

does it guide us?
hold us in- even in times of tears?

ain’t it a moving too hot for us to sit on?

ain’t it light?

don’t it move us to dance, and see, and live and all those things?

we grow in sun. ourselves and every other being. green kale, ants and elephants, peaches, peacocks and watermelon all come up with the sun. they do. they live with us.

sun sounds strong. and loving. he sounds like she. the sun do know the moon. they close. so he good cause moon knows mother so she keep good company.

and the sun tickled us. he gave us warmth. strength, song, and Black skin. sun has seen us. played with and moved over us in much celebration. even in wars and ceremonies, sun been there. i wouldn’t be surprised if when we was to die, a doctor was to find a small sun in us both. And found out that- right there in your chest- was enough to fuel a life of doing.

now thats a thought ain’t it- that there’s a small sun in you?

For Martina.


Martina Davis-Correia, the sister of Troy Davis, has passed on. I remember having the opportunity to hear her speak of her brother’s trail and conviction while she was on the freedom road, attempting to get Troy off death row. Something in her eyes and voice resonated deep within me. This womyn spent the last years of her life, as she battled illness, trying to undo the wrong of this Capitalist system. Moments before Troy was executed I saw Martina get in front of news cameras and declare that “the old South will not rise again”. The pure fierceness and unrelenting passion, which echo’d so many powerful Black womyn in my life, touched me. Her passing is a great loss. Please take some time in your day to remember this womyn. Bourgeois history may forget her, as it does with many of our warriors, but her spirit lives in us. Her life carries in ours and her fight continues with ours. Till the wheels fall off. Till this system falls down. A luta continua!

Our Lives, For Martina

Our lives speak soul afro progression





Gin joints

Sin joints


High tops

Righteous fists

And grits

Cats howling at the moon over broken Colt bottles.

The sweet rhythms of the Delta.

And the rough ones in the boogie.

Shake shacks and the state hunting us.

They speak of a justice not yet seen.

And imprisonment behind red, blue and white bars.

Our lives speak Black.

And sister, our lives speak you.

Selfless and bold.

Forever pressure put on coal.

May your life be light

and your words be felt.

Our lives speak you.