A Note from Mel

Make the connection…

An Open Letter to Ms. Kelley Williams-Bolar January 28, 2011

An Open Letter to Ms. Kelley Williams-Bolar

 

January 28, 2011, 11:33 a.m. 

 

Good Morning, Sis,

 

I hope this letter finds you in brighter garbs and rid of those thick black and white stripes. I hope it finds you rid of their intent.

I watched you yesterday morning on CNN, your hair tied on top of your head. A cornrow unbraided, released into a curl over your kitchen. I know you, sis. What they tried to do to you. Steal your color. Your dreams for your babies. I saw purple coming from your eyes. You knew what they were trying to do. You knew they didn’t want their money back…or you teaching in their schools. Plainly, tempered, you said it how you saw it.

I, on the other hand, was rolling my neck at the TV screen: Puhlease. Example made. Time served. Sister’s disenfranchised. Goals blighted. The kids see it and will never forget. Will be extremely cognizant of their PLACE in this country. Another sad, tragic story. Agh.

That was me; not you. You were me, still. We know the things we will do for our children. Folks can say or rule how they want. Those are our babies. Our love knows no zones or quotas.

I am writing you today, one criminal mother to another. We know these school systems give us some and keep the rest. But, of course, Sis, that has nothing to do with me and you.

Yours in the light and struggle,

Melanie Henderson

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Literary Apartheid by jessica Care moore July 21, 2010

http://afrostoshelltoes.com/word/2010/07/18/literary-apartheid-by-jessica-care-moore/

 

January 8, 2009

Filed under: Art & Children,Art - The Process,Artist Moms — anotefrommel @ 4:43 pm
Tags: , , , , ,

Dark Stars over DC

 

Eyes fall

Lash-skirted lids

Cheeks catch dark shadows

Of a goodbye

A final witnessed breath

 

Steal his love away

It slips out of a quiet house

Heavy knees, coward feet

Press pedal of an    unloaded—

An unloaded vehicle,

Deficient of all his belongings.

 

© 2009, Melanie Henderson

 

Lorde, mothers and sons. October 15, 2008

I’ve heard it said before (that being a mother changes you). I just never understood how so or how much until I became one one December afternoon in 2006. Those who know me and my baby boy know that he arrived about 8 months after this on a temperate July evening. But, I was a mom almost immediately; Not because I was bearing him, but because I almost immediately began to internalize what being a mom entailed for me and my baby. At first, an absolute and complete state of puzzlement encapsulated me for no longer than two days; Immediately after, a constant peace set in, a knowing from a place I could not name or locate.

Almost 15 months later after his physical arrival to this place, this constancy has remained, sort of like an axis on which my life as a mother spins steadily, however, fast or slow.

Some constants: my overwhelming determination to preserve, protect, educate, enjoy the Black male I bore. The feeling which benefits from, but gains no essential value from knowledge/the mind, can only be described as fierce.

Fiercely, I love him. Fiercely, I protect him. Fiercely, there are no conditions.

I know the day will come where protector will no longer be my role. Many things, he will have to learn on his own. Some things are not in my power to teach him. However, I am empowered by Audre Lorde ‘s essay, Man Child: A Black Lesbian Feminist’s Response in Sister Outsider :

“I wish to raise a Black man who will not be destroyed by, nor settle for those corruptions called power by the white fathers who mean his destruction as surely as they mean mine. I wish to raise a Black man who will rcognize that the legitimate objects of his hostility are not women, but the particulars of a structure that programs him to fear and despise women as well as his own Black self. For me (Audre Lorde), this task begins with teaching my son that I do not exist to do his feeling for him.”

I do not exist to do his feeling for him. First I think of course not. But then I think how not? An immediate conflict of feelings. A feeling to embrace, a feeling to develop until his manhood, a feeling to let diminish for his benefit.

This journey, the practice of diminishing in tandem with large ties, bonds, care, is just beginning for my son and I. This life comes through us (mothers) and has nothing to do with the mind.
So much we teach them. But how much more they teach us. How joyful and painstaking is this road.

Lord, Lorde , have mercy. Give me the strength to bear his smiles.