Jasmyne K. Rogers
jrogers083@gmail.com  

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DOI: https://doi.org/10.47106/4rwj.11029917

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This poem is about a Black woman remembering her divinity.

 

My cells tell stories

stories rooted in deep places

with cherry oak trees

porches with wooden boards and meshed screen

adorned with Black women with thick pain

yet, honey pouring from their mouths

the Blues in their eyes

rememory in their breaths

scattered flowers in their hearts

healing in their hands

as their fingertips

massage scalps

and humming and moaning heal the wombs 

of generations of women

My cells tell stories

of sacred spaces

where souls bloom in the dark

cracks in the concrete

fragmented, but still rose

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