What Happened To Her?
What happened to the black queen?
Did she die during child birth
Delivering our savior?
Did she evaporate from the steam of
A flaming hot stove; cutting potatoes
Because that’s all she had to feed the
Small tribe she so passionately called
Her children?
Did she pass out from the years and years
Of un-pleasurable sex she endured just
To keep a man?
Did pure exhaustion kill her spirit?
Did she burry herself in one of the three jobs
She worked to care for her man-free home?
Did she commit suicide when her first child
Was sent up the river for being
In the wrong place-
At the wrong time –
With the wrong folks?
Maybe she’s standing on her feet for 10 hours a day
Doing hair or folding sheets.
Maybe she just gave up when she finally
Realized that the support she desired
From her “sisters” really didn’t exist.
Maybe she never woke from the endless nightmare
That kept her from feeling worthy of love.
Maybe she’s standing on the corner selling herself
In a blind effort to provide for her babies.
Maybe she’s in prison for offing the man she watched
Rape her daughter, all the while claiming to love her.
Maybe the black queen lost herself
In weave and contact lenses.
Maybe she drowned in the tears brought on
By pain and misery of being molested and physically
Abused in the comfort of her childhood home by the man
She called uncle, or step daddy.
Could it be that she grew old at the tender age of 35
When her daughter made her a grandmother?
Could it be that despair murdered her
When she lost focus of her goals, her dreams, her ambitions
Just to become a baby with a baby?
Maybe the black queen isn’t dead at all.
Maybe she lay in the wind singing through the trees
With a whispering breeze.
Maybe she cries out to us thru storms offering
Life with each raindrop and strength with each
Thunderous clap.
Maybe she lends an ear when we scream out in pain
And agony with no idea why it feels so much better
Afterwards.
Maybe the black queen is in every first gasp of air
Taken to welcome us to this brand new world.
Maybe she’s standing in front of a podium proclaiming
Her faith in righteousness and spiritual completeness.
Maybe she’s that voice you hear in your spirit that
Warns you of your troublesome ways.
She could be that vision you see when you close
Your eyes that warns of your ill-mannered tendencies.
Thru years of hard work and no pay;
Years of depression and oppression;
Years of never giving or having enough, but trying;
Decades of babies and pitiful, careless, thoughtless, abusive men;
Thru fears and fights
And nights filled with soul drenching tears;
Rough times, hard-headed kids,
Heart ache, health problems, stress,
PMS, UTI’s, cysts, bad vision, big hips, big asses
The passing of the flat stomach stage,
That comes and goes as quickly as the rising sun
Age, race and gender discrimination
Single parenting, bad relationships with
So-called sisters who should really be called Haters,
Apprehensions, inferiority complexes,
Weight gain, self-esteem deficiencies, lack of confidence
Long days, short nights…
To all we owe the disappearance of
A natural born leader
A keeper of tarnished spirits
A lender of positive energy
A vocal vessel.
To say the least,
The black queen is not dead
Nor is she dormant
She is here – still
She is strong – still
She is tired, weary
Yet she is ready, prepared
For the world’s best attempt
To kidnap her ease
To rob her peace
To stab her purity
To conquer her wisdom
To shoot her efforts.
She watches in amusement
Planning her rebirth
Preparing her army to
Retaliate against this
Un-welcomed treatment.
She is still here
She is still strong
She is pressing onward
She is the black queen
Meet her in eternity.