She Is Home
“She Is Home” He walks through a world that chews on his name like it don’t deserve to be spoken whole spits him out in pieces, calls it survival. They weigh his skin like it’s evidence. Measure his voice like it’s a threat. Break his spirit in public and call it policy. He carries that weight on his back, in his chest, in the quiet places no one checks for bruises. But baby… when he reaches my door he don’t knock. He can’t knock. Because I already told him “This ain’t a place you visit… this is a place you belong.” And he got the keys. Not of metal. Nor silver. Not something that jingles in his pocket. No He got the keys in the way he loves me. In the way he chooses me even when the world won’t choose him. And me I am the lock and the welcome, the threshold and the prayer. I am home. A Black woman with walls built not from bri...