—Constance Jaquay Strickland—

I turned another year older / 

life is clearer, not easier, yet I feel brave and bolder.

Although time has brought blessings, I can’t help but hold my breath as I pray for the mothers who huddle and hold hungry babies in their arms in the midst of rubble. 

As I walk through this unfamiliar Italian town, I hold my head high |  I remember I’m the first of our matriarchal line on my mother’s side to leave the country: 

I hear my grandmother’s voice in my ear__remember / we’re Black and we’re proud….so I keep moving.

During dinner, it begins to rain in Genoa. The wind blows remarkably heavy; it starts to speak / 

I wonder if I am the only one who can hear our ancestors whispering?

It’s 3am and I’m still awake. Naked, I lay down in this bed that is not mine on top of a vintage mattress. How many before me have laid their head down in this same spot, staring out into the darkness // dreaming of a future that may not come. 

I drift. I allow my eyes to close. Allowing my body to find a sense of renewal | I  give control to the darkness as the Medeterrian Sea sings me to sleep.

As I enter a new realm, I hear her voice:

What if we slowed down and healed?