“No, I do not weep at the world — I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.” (c) Zora Neale Hurston
in 2024, i promised myself no matter what happened in november, i would pursue joy. i’m a black woman in america, raised by women who survived segregation in church pews and backyard get-togethers with a little something to drink, a cigarette they shouldn’t have smoked, and music to groove to. our pain birthed american art forms — the defiant joy in our tambourines and church stomps became gospel. the deep-seated weariness in our fingers birthed the guitar licks that became the blues and i don’t need to tell you how that became rock and roll. our swing became jazz. hip hop was born on street corners that became recital halls when urban schools closed their music programs…
Continue reading “Even in Chaos, I Know Joy”
The Skinny Black Girl 