Almost

I almost didn’t write this week but then I thought of Toni Morrison, scribbling away on her yellow legal paper all those early mornings.

I almost didn’t write this week but then I thought about how the sun burned my right breast through my T-shirt while I sunbathed on the balcony reading “Assata” on her birthday.

I almost didn’t write this week but then I saw a towering tree in the distance that persistently leans left, bucking tradition of all the others that surround it.

I almost didn’t write this week but then I saw my sister swing her twists while she gracefully spun and inverted on her pole, beckoning and inviting others to love themselves and her art.

I almost didn’t write this week but then I thought of my husband’s black and silver curls falling to the floor after holding it between my fingers, cutting new growth away.

I almost didn’t write this week but then I remembered how I sobbed in the shower when I heard a stranger talk about her miscarriages and her infertility.

I almost didn’t write this week but then I remembered how I deeply miss the hugs, kisses, the eye contact of people I love.

I almost didn’t write this week but then I opened a lipstick that made me smile wide when I painted my full lips the color of deep red wine.

I need to capture it because one day, hopefully many many years from now, I won’t be here to “almost” at all.

Go See This Film

On Saturday, a friend of mine asked me to go to the movies to see Toni Morrison: The Pieces I Am. My friend and I had tears in our eyes by the end. I scooted to the edge of my seat several times as if I was at a thriller. It has taken me a few days to process what I was feeling. Inspired? Challenged? Convicted?

I don’t have all of the right words that won’t be a regurgitation of scenes from the film.

So I will just say all of this:

It made me feel like I could write anything or work on one dream while lifting up the dreams of others or raise children or write from a place that doesn’t take the white male gaze into account or be unapologetic about wanting to be celebrated and unapologetic about my Blackness or my faith or turn down the volume of doubt in my own head or from others or be fiercely private or lay it all out there for the world to see and hear. Embrace the sunrise as I put pen to paper. It made me want to… everything.