It rained today.
A short burst of tears
A showing of something other than bright rays.
And I saw my young self
Searching for water
Even when lightning would show
And thunder would thump.
My babysitter would say,
“stay still now, God is busy boy”
But I would dream to be under the ‘busy’
Tongue all out
Boots or ill advised footwear
Hollowing puddles
Looking for balance or a cleansing.
And today, out my window
So far from my youth,
The gray and green is a bit heavy
God is busy and I want to
Stay in
Till it’s done
Til the world turns
And the rain is for spring
And no more pain
I find my way back to this photo, now and again.
It calls me. Quiet but steady. I was trying, then, to hold something still, maybe. Hold, with an open hand, perhaps- to keep it from leaving me so quickly. To set it down somewhere I could return to.
And here it is, still waiting.
Sometimes, I see two people. At times, I see one, at two different points: a desire for more past today | an edict to mine the matter of yesterday rather than rush toward tomorrow.
There’s a kind of privilege in that pause. The time to reflect is not always given. But I am finding it is necessary, that looking back is not resistance to movement, but preparation for it.
And everything now moves so quickly. Image after image, moment after moment | “content” creates a quiet pressure, a sense that we’re always behind, always missing something, always choosing wrong.
But the truth might be slower than that.
It is in reflection that we begin to recognize our steps. And in recognizing them, we learn how to move with more care and more clarity and more truth, toward wherever we’re going next.
what’s your fear/ is it all in your head/ are you warm, is there comfort/ when you lie in your bed/ there’s no “way back when”, only the road ahead/ I’m not like you, I don’t want your head/ I want peace instead/ listen or perish
“… White means that you are European still and Black means I’m African and we both know we both been here too long. You can’t go back to Ireland or Poland or England and I can’t go back to Africa. And we will live here together or we’ll die here together. It is not I am telling you. Time is telling you. You will listen or you will perish.”
-James Baldwin
They will need us less with every second, every minute.
Slowly, quietly, the center shifts.
They’ll make their own minds.
Clean their own quarters.
Carry more and more of the weight of their own lives.
And they will need us less with every second
One day, maybe soon,
we’ll need them. And they will come.
They’ll fulfill their duties
and around the corner
a new thing
Less child.
More partner.
More sibling than child.
In that brief season when they will need you for almost everything is when we get the chance to leave our mark and stamp their lives. Memory forge.
And prayerfully,
good ones.
Happy Birthday Mommy!
What a blessed occasion to be able to celebrate you on this beautiful day!
On the date of Ghana’s Independence Day you came to us and bore such good fruit!
Words cannot fully express what you mean to me, your family, and your community!
Happy Birthday Amma Ghana!!
We love you!! 😘
do you always like what you see in the mirror?
is it always a kind reflection
an interest for wonder and delight
the shame no where in sight
just good ol loving you?
maybe not, but im assured you see it
sometime, or seentit
and this capture im ok with releasing it
ya know.
that’s me.
and no matter
what they might say or see
matters not to me
thank you for your eye brother @sulyiman_
you are deep in a language and we
are richer the more you speak it.
right on.
What Now.
This song was written as an imagined conversation with the system that took Martin Luther King Jr.’s life.
Questions without answers.
Questions that still echo.
Did you see him when he walked out?
Did you see him when he fell down?
Did you have to notify your people
that you cut down one of my people?
The streets spilled over then.
And in many ways today, the same spilling.
On the week of Dr. King’s birthday, I’m sharing this not as a memorial, but as a mirror.
Because erasure keeps finding new language.
Civil rights keep being revised, diluted, rolled back. Progress is more a rumor than a responsibility.
the question remains—
not just for history, but for us:
What now?
… what now?
This song doesn’t answer it.
But in all our seconds, we will
Doctor King loved us.
I pray we do the same for us.
❤️
My sister wrote this beautiful children’s book, Abena and Her Friday Jollof, and watching it land in the hands of the next generation has been pure joy. It’s a story that lives at the intersection of food, family, culture, and care—the kind of book that invites conversation without trying too hard.
About the book:
Abena and Her Friday Jollof follows Abena as she helps prepare a special Friday meal, learning along the way about tradition, patience, and the love that shows up when families gather around food. It’s a gentle celebration of routine, heritage, and the small moments that make home feel like home.
If you’re a parent, a teacher, or someone who has a child you love in your life—this is a sweet addition to the shelf. Perfect for read-aloud time, classroom conversations about culture, or a lovely read before bedtime.
Available now on Amazon. (also link in my bio)
❤️
