Even now it is a dangerous thing when a colored girl speaks.
All those words, unsaid, welled up pricking my throat like the soft bones of fried fish too quickly eaten. I could no longer breathe, and a near hypertensive crisis reminded me whose daughter I was.
A Colored Girl in Four Acts
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Going Home to Where I Been
I go home to places where I been to know I will always be somebody’s.
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I am of Her
There was no place my mother believed we could not be because we were colored.
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The Shadow of Suns
All of who they were now, the enslaved and stolen generations before had given them—something that could not be bought, sold, or taken.
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A Circle on the Verge of Closing
It is as if I am a part of a circle on the verge of closing, both done and undone.