Anna Gayle
THE COLOR OF HEALING
the black women doubly enslaved,
could but suffer and struggle and be silent — Anna Cooper
on evenings when all you can see of the
sun is the glow it leaves, eclipsing the black
of night, we become the souls of ourselves—women
that can become—the air doubly
anoints our bodies, blessing us and our enslaved
mothers. on nights like this the color of healing could
be any shade of sky or depth of fertile soil, but
often it is my shadow asking why I don’t suffer
often it is hearing my father say nigga and
songs that say my skin means struggle.
often the color of healing is fruit that is strange and
mine to carry; the fight of finding a way to be
the loudest part of myself when everyone else is silent.