Ancestors Know 

May 2019 

Our ancestors had a message for us— 

they said, Baby, we got you. 

We won’t let go. 

We planted the seeds 

so that y’all would know— 

the fruit that doesn’t get picked from the trees isn’t rotten, it’s just fertilizer for all of us to grow. 

Didn’t you know we came to the world to inspire? Vigilant, vivacious, we have built whole empires. We have the power to fulfill our hearts’ deepest desires. No matter what happens along our timeline of history, our collective energy never expires. 

Like music notes on the scale, let’s take each other higher. Blues, 

Indigo, 

Vanilla, 

Wheat, 

Snow. 

We are hues represented by the earth’s glow. 

Suns transition us from one plane to another. 

Project yourself into the future with me— 

let’s build right now for our future legacies’ seeds. Let’s not make our great-great-grandmothers’ burdens our own. Our children’s children need to have land that they own. 

We Hear You

March 2020 

We hear you. 

We remember. 

For every grave left unnamed— 

we remember. 

For every police description looked at as familiar— 

we see your differences. 

For every moment our ancestors ever felt shame— 

we feel you. 

For every ounce of uneasiness in spaces that lack brown faces— we feel you. 

For every corner, lot, and random space in cities all over Black communities— we see you. 

We see the neighborhood altars: 

flowers, 

teddy bears, 

pictures, 

candles— 

covering up bloodstained memories of bodies that once laid cold and souls that have risen to the ethers. 

Darkness sinks in slowly. 

We see the tears of the fallen. 

We feel the love poured out in your absence. 

We remember when we should’ve done more in happenstance. 

We whisper the names of those taken too soon— 

like when the crisp air of fall hits us in June.

We bear witness to tragedy. 

We feel its unbarring double-edged sword— sharply cutting away at our humanity. 

We see you. 

We see the possibilities. 

We see the seeds that will flourish into growth. 

We plant seedlings in your honor. 

We raise centers in the lost souls. 

Yet we will now heal and protect. 

We will live and thrive. 

You will survive, little Black boys and little Black girls— for your grandma’s mama, her mama, and their long legacy have said affirmations, validations, 

and high aspirations in the legacy of your name and of those that have yet to come. 

Don’t ever let anyone tell you 

you are not the one— 

for you are all and then some. 

Ashe

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