Watch Us Rise(72)
Levitate. Yes we know what we want.
Jet-fueling fire-walker women.
From french fries to tamales to tacos
in the Heights to sancocho & cornbread.
Don’t we eat this world. Alive.
Don’t we leg stretch, cherry gum,
bubble blow strike loose & low, light up, chisel, shine. Don’t we blind the competition when we want. Don’t we bless
and flourish, pray & sing. Don’t we crave.
Don’t we show off, show up, show out,
stay late, wake early, rock when we want.
Open fire, don’t we run international.
Executive directing renegades, graffiti artists, waitresses, mystics, healers, cleaners.
Can’t we wield knives. Strut. Stunt.
Weren’t we born rooster, born
snake & wild horse. Born below ground & now we volcano. Don’t we dip when we want, post up or dance, deliver. Don’t we crack gold if you try to break us. Defiant.
Don’t call us pretty. Not your perfect
or primed. Our mouths can be clean or dirty.
We sleep on your criticisms, choke back jealousies.
Not one slight can crack code our brilliant skulls.
Electric. Don’t we do what we want. When we want.
Whenever we want. Don’t we know what’s bitter & what’s sweet—& don’t we want ’em both.
Unafraid of being all the woman we are. Globe spinning, orbit rising, hip grinding, body banging.
So oh yes. We plan to stay.
Walking the Streets in NYC
Inspired by Emory Douglas and
the Black Panther Party
by Jasmine Gray
Hello, Men of New York City.
This is a teenage girl calling you again.
A girl who walks past whistling men
on my way to school, on my way from school, to and from everywhere I go.
This is just to say
I am not an object to call back to you like a yo-yo.
Don’t tug at me, pull me close.
My body is not yours for taking,
grabbing, slapping, commenting on.
I am not the quench for your thirst.
Don’t tell me to smile,
Don’t call me bitch when I walk away.
Don’t make my fatness your fetish,
Don’t tell me my fatness is your disdain.
My body is not yours for taking,
grabbing, slapping, commenting on.
Let me walk in peace, let my feet be graceful or not,
be high-heeled or combat boot.
Let my face be in deep thought
or anger or laughter or just be.
Let me be without trying to make meaning of who I am.
Don’t call me
baby, ma, sexy.
Do not rename me.
You can’t name what you do not own.
You don’t own my body.
My body is not yours.
This Body II
by Jasmine Gray
My body is
perfect and
imperfect and
black and
girl and
big and
thick hair and
short legs and
scraped knee and
healed scar and
heart beating and
hands that hold and
voice that bellows and
feet that dance and
arms that embrace and
my momma’s eyes and
my daddy’s smile and
my grandma’s hope and
my body is masterpiece and
my body is mine.
Please sit,” Ms. Lucas says as we walk into her classroom. She is not alone. Mrs. Curtis is sitting there, along with Ms. Johnson. They are seated at a round table and gesture to the two open chairs. Jasmine looks at me, and I almost start laughing because I’m so nervous. What is happening?
“Are we in trouble?” Jasmine asks.
“Again?” I add.
“No, no . . . ?just, please sit down. We have some things we wanted to talk about with you,” Ms. Lucas says.
We each take a seat.
“I’ll start,” Ms. Johnson says. “I want to first take a moment to thank you both.” We stare back, not having any idea what she is thanking us for. “You two have had a very adventurous year, full of interesting choices, and although I haven’t agreed with all of them, I do applaud you for the work you have done in the school.”
“You have made some very bold choices,” Mrs. Curtis adds, “and we wanted to let you know that we have all taken notice.” I feel like I am in the Twilight Zone for real.
Ms. Lucas starts in. “I want to apologize. I didn’t fight hard enough for you. But when I went to that open mic at Word Up, and I listened to what you were saying and saw all those young women from around the neighborhood, and I just . . . ?I saw myself up there, and I am proud of you.”
Ms. Johnson adds, “We wanted you to know that we see what you’re doing, and we are also planning to raise our voices in some of our own ways. So, we thank you. That’s all,” she finishes, and starts to gather her things to leave.
“Wait, wait,” Jasmine says. “I mean, thank you, we . . . ?thank you, but what do you mean? What are you planning?”
“Don’t worry,” Ms. Lucas responds. “We are working on that, but we did want to let you know that your questions and your statements really got us all thinking, and we appreciated it. Thanks for coming in.”