Winter Wonderland
You wandered into the blizzard when I was
weak
tearful
blood between my legs
lost in an endless migration
of frost-bound ground
unyielding soil
and babies conceived and born
unceremoniously
after freezing nights of misery
wondering if I - we - they had been forgotten
every Ancestral taboo
broken
cast aside
silenced
by hunger pains
and doubt
heart shattered by missing
grannies mothers aunties sisters cousins best friends
likewise cast aside unceremoniously
when their bodies became a burden
and the frozen Earth refused to open for them
You summoned us to the wilderness
so proud of your snow castle
built in distraction
without any of us in mind
an escape, really
a monument to a million tragedies
too frightening to face
let alone remember
You summoned us to this palace of forgetting
and many followed
because, really…
what better did we have? Except behind us…
Slowly, too slowly, through numbed skin and winter winds whipping all around us
each of us secretly longing for the Sun
the horror unfolded before us
as we realized what You’d done
another layer of
unforgivable
on top of so many
the supplies stolen in the night from who-knows-who who-knows-where
(we would find that out later)
the neighbor’s daughter
raped casually
because
“boys will be boys”
(but where did these boys come from?
it wasn’t always this way)
the inhospitableness of it all
the absence of altars to anything but your foolishness
And yet
“Come,” You said, “This is where we will stay.”
chest puffed out
full of pride
conferred by men
just as misguided
as
You
We stayed for a while
But the time of staying
mired in disbelief
drowning in despair
is over
I - We - are stronger now
ever so slightly
but enough
Nourished on dreams of long-ago and inside-the-sun
guided by whispers from the Spirits
and bold cries from warmer latitudes
strong enough to draw You into my bosom
to be the quiet space where You release
the fear You pushed aside for seemingly endless centuries
strong enough to listen, to comfort, to heal some piece of brokenness
as You blubber into the broth I have prepared
which will lead You to a final rest
a peace unlike any You’ve known
strong enough to return in the light of day
to clean up your mess
- with or without You -
to repair the irreparable
to dream back into existence the magic we
lost along the way to this
to this
to this
Winter Wonderland
strong enough to change course
to bend back
like an arc
no longer trapped in ice
no longer just ice
but just like that
with Sankofa’s look back
Justice
strong enough to break through the freeze
for
this bridge they call my back
the way back
from your castle of delusion
to the old ways we know
deep in our bones
strong enough
when the season is ripe
and the moon is full
to time your transition for a moment when
finally
the Earth is ready
to take You back
because this time
We will not forget
Author’s Note:
"You don't escape trauma by ignoring it. You escape trauma by confronting it." - Isabel Wilkerson's character in the film "Origin" based on Wilkerson’s book Caste: the Origins of Our Discontent.
I wrote “Winter Wonderland” on December 1st, 2022, without any plan or intention; it just sort of spilled out of me. In discussion of the poem during Manbo Khadeidra’s interview with me for her “Embodied Memories of Ginen” project, she ascribed the word “channeled” to the writing of the piece - as in, I channeled the poem. It certainly felt that way, so much so that the full meaning of the piece has continued to reveal itself to me, both in the dialogue with Manbo Khadeidra and in my subsequent reflections.
To hear a thorough discussion of the poem between Manbo Khadeidra and me, as well as my reading of an earlier but very similar draft, begin at minute 22 of the interview. If you listen to the whole thing, you will also hear a reading and discussion of "In the dreams / of our Ancestors", and the concluding readings of "Shout-out to Blakawout (OR) Artificial Light" and "Visions of the Future".
While I contemplated and then dismissed the idea of publishing this at the 1 year anniversary of its writing or as the Winter Solstice approached because of the stark contrast between the heaviness of the piece and the joy and optimism promoted during the Judeo-Christian "holiday season", the next fitting date seemed to be the Martin Luther King Jr. Day weekend, which marked one year since Manbo Khadeidra’s interview with me. We noted the significance of both MLK Jr. and the day commemorating his sacrifice for justice during the interview, but as the more fitting MLK Jr. Day and coinciding interview anniversary approached, came and went, I relived my own condensed, parallel version of what this poem describes: the brutality of winter as a backdrop, for starters; revelations of horror about some of those closest to me; the implied self-loathing that comes along with both accepting the limitations and neglect of those that have led and still claim to love me, and reckoning with my role in allowing such to happen; the exhaustion, soul-searching, wishing that this were not my path, and questioning why it is, particularly in conjunction with my rage at and, in some cases, deeply personal experiences with [this country’s] violent, harmful and divisive fruits of “the palace of forgetting” and “castle of delusion”. The immigration system. The policing, (in)justice and prison systems. The military. The CIA & FBI, etc.
As I lived through a new set of losses and trauma in January, I reflected on previous ones that my loved ones and I - and so, so many others - have endured because of these ‘violent, harmful and divisive fruits of “the palace of forgetting” and “castle of delusion”’, and ruminated about the perennial gaslighting carried out by corporate media, mainstream politicians and academics who, at best, fail to see or understand or name, or, at worst, actively obfuscate and silence the roots of our long suffering. Amidst these experiences and thoughts, I longed desperately to publish this piece (and the many others waiting in drafts), but had to face that, just as the poem states, I was “mired in disbelief, drowning in despair.” And so, finally, rather than berating myself for being unable to instantly overcome the toll of those events and feelings, I made space for my grief.
On a meta-level, my initial rush to publish following the Solstice season was not unlike the false urgency of reactive elements that have led us, on a grand scale and in simplistic terms, to be grappling (still) with the fall-out of ‘snowstorms’ from hundreds and thousands of years ago. Thankfully that rush was followed by thoughtfully taking my time to look back: at the interview; at a variety of events both personal, public and historical; at the words of MLK Jr.’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” and the sage analysis of Dr. Carr and Prof. Hunter of “In Class with Carr” and Knarrative, and others; at the practice of Afro Flow Yoga; and at the older, deeper tradition of Vodou - which has not only survived but liberated far more than too many of us realize.
The above influences - which, broadly, might be understood as the “dreams of long-ago and inside-the-sun… whispers from the Spirits… and bold cries from warmer latitudes” named in the poem - aided me in scratching out little moments of strength and faith amidst my aforementioned struggles. I was left in the quiet, tired but determined place that there is no way but forward, thoughtfully - sometimes so slowly it feels painful - with an eye on Sankofa, towards healing and Justice; this is the work.
What is the work? It’s different for each and every one of us, though we’ve all in some way been impacted by the legacy of a people who wandered into a blizzard and - to some extent - are still lost there. Whether that storm hit us - our specific Ancestors - or not, many of us are trying to recover who we were before… and who we deserve to be in the future. For those of us who embody (to whatever extent) the Feminine, our work is to join in or continue reestablishing balance with the Masculine, and recreating and rebirthing our magical, ancestral legacy -- whether we lost them so long ago amidst the snow, in the aftermath, or we are struggling to hold on to ours in the face of ‘the violent, harmful and divisive fruits of “the palace of forgetting” and “castle of delusion”’.
In the end, it took watching Ava Duvernay's film "Origin" based on Wilkerson’s book Caste: the Origins of Our Discontent to give me the little push that I needed to finish this Author’s Note, which was the last barrier between me and publishing. One (hopefully) obvious connection between the historic horrors evoked in the poem and its tragic offshoots is the racialized caste system revealed in Wilkerson's work. But the film also highlights Wilkerson’s journey to writing Caste amidst staggering personal loss. And something about that - in addition to the power of her work itself - inspired me to return to this piece after the pause for self-compassion I'd allowed myself amidst the crush of overwhelming suffering and loss in my own life.
It is easy to be overwhelmed amidst all the chaos caused by lost men, but in the end my faith is sustained by the knowledge that the Earth always wins. Beyond my personal experiences, the timing of the poem’s release reflects that complexity: this weekend much of the USA is distracted by the Super Bowl as the planet is bathed in the darkness of the New Supermoon and we enter the Lunar New Year, celebrated by roughly half of the planet’s population.
Ultimately, this is neither a poem I want nor don't want. It simply is. It captures, for me, the things I didn't chose but was chosen for. It came through me, and finally the time has come to share it beyond the protective space of the few elders and family members and loved ones I trusted to read it to or send it to over a year ago when I first wrote it. It is not an easy poem but it is an inevitable one in the world we have all inherited. As Isabel Wilkerson wrote: "You don't escape trauma by ignoring it. You escape trauma by confronting it."
Special thanks to Flame Bilyue for graciously sharing her art “Goddess Moon” and to Manbo Khadeidra for including me in her “Embodied Memories of Ginen” project; both have enriched this piece.