She must be conquered, she must be laid bare, her loins are possessed with evil desires and her womb is cursed to churn out, litters of black babies and the worst of all atrocities the monstrous black boy.
This narrative is more poisonously popular today than it was in the days of slavery, back then the black woman could be tamed by the gruesome beatings of the black man and raped into submission by her white master.
Then there were the Nanny of the Maroon's, the Rosa Parks, the Ella Baker's, the Angela Davis, the Audre Lorde's, the Assata Shakur's, the Diane Abbott's.
No longer were we just a quite place to pour the rage and frustrations that is the emasculation of black men, nor were we just a warm wet hole to conquer by our white masters. We the Black women of this world have an elusive power, our resiliency, and a wisdom that echoes thru our children. We teach them to read, to dream, we have given birth to new generations and with that we gave them something that is surprisingly more powerful than others could have imagined... we have given our descendants hope.
I sit my daughter between my legs; legs that had been forcefully pried open by your patriarchy and white supremacy. I slowly part her hair, and gently rub in the oils of my fore-mothers as I tell her stories of Anansi the spider's cunning and Nanny's leadership, I sing her songs of freedom, and recite Miss Lou's poetry. I do it all: with a mothers touch, fierceness, love and solidarity.
I am passionate, I am strong,
and knowledge of their ancestors.