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Own My Own / That Word

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Own My Own

For Lucy, mother of us all

Dinknesh: the wonderful, the fabulous, the precious. That’s you.
They named you Lucy after the Beatles’ song playing
on the cassette as they celebrated finding you.

Small, 3 & ½ feet, maybe, 60 pounds.
You walked tall, 3.2 million years ago, in Afar, Ethiopia.
What happened when you walked by that riverbank where they found you?

You, the most complete, 40% of your bones intact. You surely surprised them.
You walked upright and made them give you a new title of your own:
Australopithecus afarensis. How could you know I would be thinking about you?

 

That Word

A boat named No Justice floats in the bay.
Gleams of gentle light peek at the horizon.
I hear the incessant juddering of the grass cutter.
The dull hum, an unruly crowd–a thousand terns
descending. Their outcry fades, that word rises.

Spewed by the Amherst councilman.
Tattooed where the children watch–
at the base of Glace Bay’s skateboard park.
Overheard at the Toronto York School Board.

Like a knife scraped over my old wound
still tender to the touch.

Grace and Roberta

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When Black Loyalists came to settle in Birchtown, Nova Scotia, in the late 1700s, most arrived as “free blacks.” They were former slaves who fought for the British in the American Revolutionary War in exchange for land and freedom. When they arrived in Birchtown, however, they found themselves still indentured to wealthy white Loyalists in order to survive the harsh conditions. For many, promises of land, food and lodgings never materialized. Birchtown residents did the best they could to take care of each other, but many starved or died from disease. This so-called paradise was a living hell, but it was better than slavery and a master’s whip.

“Grace and Roberta” tells of two such settlers and the night of the Shelburne Riots, the first recorded race riot in Canada.

**

Sisters Roberta and Grace escaped from a plantation in southeastern United States. They travelled through the Underground Railroad to New York and then by ship to Port Roseway in Nova Scotia. Slave hunters were on the lookout for two women, but Grace and Roberta were able to go undetected. You see, Roberta was no delicate flower. She dressed like a man. Everyone she met thought she was a man.

When Roberta and Grace arrived in Birchtown during the middle of the winter, nobody questioned this young couple who had come to settle like all the rest. Many of those already living there showed the sisters how to stay warm and how to protect themselves from the harsh, unknown elements.

Roberta was a terrific axe-woman. She helped split firewood and build shelters. She was also a hunter of wildlife, so she was able to feed herself and Grace with small game, rabbits and birds, and gave what she could to others. Most people didn’t worry about “Robert” and how famished he looked. They were just happy to have another pair of helping hands. Roberta found it easier to let people believe she was a man; easier than trying to explain the horror of her experiences as a woman and a slave. She did what she had to do and never complained. No one questioned her gender.

Grace, on the other hand, was so much more the lady of the two. Grace was a teacher and Birchtown needed teachers, not only for the children but also for adults who could not read or write. So Grace taught children during the day and adults in the evenings after they finished work in town.

Roberta and Grace went about their daily lives until one day in 1784 when they had to defend themselves from disbanded British soldiers. These soldiers came to Birchtown with a promise to kill every Black man there. They were unable to find work, couldn’t care for their families and thought the Blacks were taking the food off their table. Truth be told, the Blacks had very little too—but they were not about to lose it. So the fight began.

Roberta was in a bad spot because the community leaders demanded that every capable man carry a gun and use it against the soldiers. She followed this order out of fear of people finding out she was a woman. But what frightened her most was shooting at another person.

The fighting became fierce. Many on both sides were wounded. Later, they would call it a race riot, but on that night it was a war and people fought for their lives and their loved ones. Roberta joined a group called the Black Pioneers. She helped gather guns and she set up a post at the end of the road that led from their settlement. No one knew Roberta had picked that spot—the most dangerous spot of all because she would be the first to encounter the soldiers coming toward the settlement. She chose this place because she would be alone. She did not realize the fate of all of Birchtown would lay in her hands.

Roberta waited for the soldiers in the damp, dark woods. When she heard a shot, she knew she’d been hit in the arm. She fell to the ground and felt tremendous fear. But it was not the fighting that scared Roberta. She could not shake the thought that slavery was at her door again. Still, she kept fighting and eventually fought off the soldiers. She stopped them from entering the settlement and they turned away in defeat.

While Roberta fought, Grace wandered around Birchtown looking for her sister. She knew Roberta would never give herself away; that she would fight like a man (or a woman). Grace began to cry and told everyone she met about her sister, Roberta. One of the men heard Grace’s story and said this man, or woman, as Grace explained, acted in great bravery. She came forward before anyone else to defend the most dangerous position. The man explained that she was wounded, but that she was now by the fire being treated by some of the women.

Grace made her way to the huge fire that burned at the edge of the brook. There were many men wounded and in pain. Grace looked up along the brook and found Roberta sitting with her hair down, talking to the women who were caring for her.

“Here I am, Grace!” Roberta called. “We don’t have to worry. We don’t have to hide. We are truly free.” Grace put her arms around her sister and cried.

Roberta and Grace stayed in Birchtown even after many had left. Grace taught in the one-room school and Roberta helped however she could. They married brothers and had many children whose descendants still live in Birchtown today.

In My Skin

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In My Skin

In my caramel-coloured
Five foot, six inch frame
In my thick thighs
And high round buttocks
Toned arms
Large forehead
Large face
Almond-shaped eyes
Full lips
Laugh lines
Large hands
And high in-stepped feet

Resides a finally grown woman
No more looking outside for guidance
But looking inside and upward for strength
Slowly and intentionally
I have blossomed into a middle-aged
Non-blues wearing or carrying fireball
Who conquers her own demons
And fills her own voids

In my caramel-coloured
Aging face and frame
I have less time
For looking back and ahead
No more letting my empty parts dictate my actions
I live in the now
Deal with the real
Learn how silence can be as powerful as words
And how to sashay out of a space
That no longer fits
And sit comfortably elsewhere
In my skin.

Imagine

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Imagine

Imagine walking into a space where you automatically feel out of place because nobody’s face is identifiable with your race and

Imagine walking into a store and being watched like a hawk, or getting pulled over by the cops for simply wanting to “talk” and

Can you imagine having the ambition to apply for a job position, only to later find out that your surname is under suspicion?

Now,

Imagine being called a racist name, all because your pigmentation isn’t the same, and when you finally get the courage to go to a teacher to explain, you’re the one who is blamed and

Imagine having a waste dump in your backyard or feeling anxious every time you see a security guard, or how about being suspended for having too much “attitude” on the school yard

To be Black in Nova Scotia means to work twice as hard, because no matter where you are, you’ll be wearing your identity card.

Beauty

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Beauty your nigger-knots are
                         unmanageable
we’ll have to comb them down
s t r a i g h t
                         but they’re tricky with
resilience, they’d rather hang loose
curling up from their roots.

What about braids with pretty beads?

Nappy twists won’t do
Let’s straighten it flat.

It will undo.

No, it will take the kink away from you.

I love how it curls–

But you have such a pretty-pale face Beauty,
It’s hard to see you through this pile of bush.

… But     I     see me.

Shh hush now.
R e l a x      as      I      permanently
take away the ack from your
blackness
and     leave     you
BLACK LESS

                         sit.
                                                  stay.
                                                                           wait.

The white will
burn me away.

You have good hair     now     Beauty
The ugly is pressed down
If only we could do something about your tongue.