I’m sitting in my unfinished closet.
In the middle of my room sits a faucet.
I’m ready, open, and embracing change.
any form will do.
Feels oh so good to smile at the sun
and feel it smiling back too.
My closet’s calming.
I could sit here for days.
But there’s life beyond this calming paint-
A rainbow of mints, oranges, greens & grays.
I find the longer life gets,
the more colors I’ll see.
In smiles, in hearts, in closets,
and sometimes in me.
I envy folks who can erase their history and create a new definition of who they are; that is absolutely brave. I have this need to learn everything there is about me: the mundane, the things worthy of pride & shame and the parts of my story that were ripped from me.Whether it is fortunate or not, every single part of me, past and present, is who I am.
The key to carrying my past (my stories & the stories of my ancestors) is perspective. I can choose to let my history drag me down or I can say “I am Imani : daughter, sister, cousin, friend & grandchild. I am one part of a long story that is always expanding, and though it is not perfect, all of it is mine”. I cannot separate myself from this story because I don’t want to lose that feeling of representing something greater than myself. And I agree that it is no one’s job to represent anything, but I volunteer.
So, when I step forward (or backwards), I’m stepping with great-great Mary A. Johnson, My Mom, My Grandma’s, my dear Aunts and Uncles, and everyone who has brought me here.
And, here we are.