Joy is an act of resistance
Why would a black woman need a fish to love? Why did she need a
flash of red, living, in thecorner of her eye? As if she could love nothing up close, but had to step
away from it, come back to drop a few seeds & let it grab
on to her, as if it caught her on some hook that couldn't
hurt. Why did she need a fish to write of, a red thorn or, among the thorns, that
flower? What does her love have to do with five hundred years of sorrow, then joy coming up like a
small breath, a bubble? What does it have to do with the graveyards of the
Atlantic, in her mother's heart?
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