slut?

walking down the street late one night near dalhousie university with a girl friend a car full of boys drove by, obviously drunk and unaccustomed to anyone darker than a paper bag one of the boys leaned out of the car window and yelled,
"SLUT!!!"

now a more sensitive person could have interpreted the situation in several different ways:

- this was a sexist comment from a drunken chauvinistic pig
- this was racially motivated verbal attack from a drunken chauvinistic pig of a bigot
- this was a case of mistaken identity and there is some short brownish slut in halifax that has in someway bruised his boyish pride

i, on the other hand, was flattered a drunken idiot could actually tell that i was a girl.

considering how many times i have been mistaken for a boy
-in broad daylight
-by sober people
-in close range

it made my entire day.

Where have all the black people gone?

I look down streets and alleys,
and behind every closed door.
They aren't in any restaurants
can't find them in the stores.

I strain my ears to hear them
I strain my eyes to search,
but i don't see my brotha
their skin's all white as birch.

I know they must exist somewhere,
I can hear their pounding beats.
The rhythms of the motherland,
I hear hip-hop in the streets.

If only i could find someone to ask them where to go.
where can i find a negro - someone darker than the snow?

what happened to the nigga-men that paved these city streets?
were they erased from history by bigots dressed in sheets?

Did they sail off to Africa? Did the tall ships take them back?
cause of all the folks I've seen today not a single one was black.

when to my left i hear it,
a soft and lonesome cry.
it's not to me she's talking,
but i hear her question "why?"

"why after centuries have passed,
why after all these years,
why when i walk through my hometown
do people stop and leer?"

I see her in the corner
but somethings no quite right.
it seems as if she might be black,
but her skin is awfully white.

what happened to you sista?
was it the plague or pox
that washed out your chestnut skin and straightened out your locks?

"what happened to me sista?
are you as dumb as they?
nothing happened to me sista,
i was born this way.

what makes your skin so chocolate
is the same that makes mine light.
God put this colour on me
and He thinks i look alright.

If you're lookin' for some coloured folk
get your head out of the ground,
your so blinded by a colour scheme
you can't see what's all around.

what exactly are you looking for?
a place where you fit in?
a person's worth is in the heart
not painted on their skin.

people come in different shades,
red, white, yellow, black and brown
when we stop lookin' at colour
only then can love abound."

I search through all the faces
my quest now seems absurd.
Was this the voice of reason
or the voice of God I heard?

I still wonder where the black folk are
'cause I know they must be here.
How can a race of people just up and disappear?

But it doesn't really matter if I can't find my kin,
why pledge allegiance to a group based on the colour of one's skin

where're you from?

since my people came here many years have gone and come
but when i walk through my home town people ask me where i'm from.
"Canada" i answer is where i'm born and raised
But ignorance is what these fools will carry to their graves.

'But really man, where are you from?
what strange foods do you eat?'
'Your face, it doesn't look like mine.
What language do you speak?'

i enunciate and say it slow, "i am Canadian".
But they can never understand so they just smile and grin.
They ask me in another way, "Where were your parents born?"
But the only answer i can give brings ridicule and scorn.
'my family is Canadian' i firmly answer back.
"That can't be true you foolish girl, your skin is clearly black."

So i turn the tables on them, I ask them where they're from.
"Newfoundland," they tell me "tried and true Canadians".
I ask them of their parents,
"Newfie bloodlines through and through".
Their voices proud as if to say, "i'm more Canadian than you".

They think their family's history surpasses that of mine,
but Newfoundland joined Canada in 1949.
"My family came on tall TALL ships, sales blowing in the wind
stolen, bruised and bloodied for the colour of their skin."
Their blue eyes lock they share a smile I"ve seen many times before
They think i should be humble downcast eyes upon the floor.

Cause no matter what i tell them, there's nothing i can say,
To them i'm just a visitor who'll go "home" someday.
There is no use in fighting. Why bother to implore?
so i take my pride and chocolate skin and calmly leave the store.

"how sweet," they say behind my back,
"she wants to be like us."
"we're open minded people,
let her sit where she wants on the bus."
___________________

this is in no way meant to insult or otherwise "pick on" newfies. it just so happen that they were the last province to join confederation.

waxing poetic

I have no questions left to ask
no answers have i heard.
i flip the pages blindly
but i'm looking for a Word

No direction and no calling,
i sit still and wait.
in search of signs from heaven
for You must know my fate.

The world around is silent
so i close my eyes and pray
i hear no quiet voice,
will i ever find my way?

Though patience must be practiced
doubt is lurking in my mind,
what am i chasing after?
will i reach the finish line?

Still no answers to my questions.
i'm still sitting in the cold.
the world around still silent,
the future still untold.

As i stand to leave and join the rest lost within the crowd...
i see our blurred reflection in a puddle on the ground.

foresight is blind

this week in herstory:

i lost all the dignity i had struggled so hard to preserve in quebec.

no matter how good one's intentions are,
when one is so small
and with such little will power
there is not much one can do but to join a nunnery...

and to stay as far as hell away from the states as possible.

for all their roads are bad roads,

none of which lead to redemption