Dear Rose

Dear Rose,

I cried for you with all the black women inside me.

I cried for the way we inherit our parent’s baggage,

for the way we don’t speak about our families made of halves.

I cried for you. 

With the strength of what it truly means to be a family. 

I cried for you because I felt your heart break

as I noticed your bones were too much like glue.

I saw you in your tears fight to stand and struggle to stay

I watched as shadows were cast down upon you,

as another black man failed you.

I felt you open your gateways and crumble into a shell of numbness

as sweat beads beat down and darkness fell upon you. 

And yet you stayed,

out of love, out of duty. 

Dear Rose, 

I cried for you in my heart

when you could not cry for yourself. 

I saw you.

Looked you in your eyes and felt you inside of me as if I knew you

As if I’ve carried you with me all my life

As if we were born with slaves and mammies and black women inside of us.

Because we were.

I cried because sometimes it feels like there’s no one to protect or honor her, 

You showed me how women willingly give themselves to love 

to lose themselves in love

To wakeup in the shell of a person 

with the memory of who she once was. 

You showed me how women lose themselves in marriage. 

It made me wonder who my mother really is,

wonder if I know her. 

I cried for you, 

as I prayed for my black mothers, 

Dear Rose, 

I am a daughter of a black woman, 

growing into a black woman,

and I see you.