To be a black girl is to be ancient
A walking cemetery
A womb to only carry lynched sons and kidnapped daughters
Have feet made of fossils
Learning the oil spill of her birth
A hip strong enough for her kin
An underground railroad kind of back
Backside to sit glass on
And still enough of herself to share in
Easy like Sunday morning
Quiet in her protest
I said to be a black girl is
To be a crying sun
Tears of skies holding onto stars
Is to be a sky holding itself close at night