June 24, 2021

They thought that we had no idea what we were, where we had come from, what our purpose was. We were natural. The trees were fertilized with our nectar, stretched out as if if a perpetual yawn—every moment was dawn. Perhaps they thought the ceiling was the Creator's floor? They knocked and knocked. I didn't have the heart to tell them that the sky did not house Heaven. They would find out. Leaves danced, a kaleidoscope of brittle tears. I felt sorry for them, somehow they had contracted the human condition.

They are caught in the middle of their salutation to the sun. Their extremities are seized and bound with rope. We find ourselves fixed to this contraption. Threaded together by the fabric of life, the poor souls are made to bear the burden of death. They participate, an unwilling conspirator—unmoved. It is Christmas time! The people with eyes wide and mouths frothing, unwrap me. I am an ornament chosen to commemorate everlasting life.

I shine. I dangle. I am still. A squirrel scurries across the branches above me.

Santa Claus is a criminal who violates the sanctity of home. We are thoroughly in love with our abuser. We can change him. He can love us. We can live...

Light passes through the canopy. Life passes through my panoply.

Only an abused body with nowhere to go would think of living like this. We have forgotten the land from where we were uprooted. This is not our land, our home, nor our bed. We are in love with Goldilocks. Who would blame the bears if they slaughtered us? Our ancestors were the heroes of fables. They left bread crumbs for us to Sankofa? Sankofa? Sankofa...find our way back. Imagine starving for knowledge.