Listen Along: 

I run me a bath

of breath, yes, breath

is running out

of the faucet

I slide into 

a tub of exhales 

and I breathe in

baptized in these small winds

the tub begins to overflow

I twist and twist the faucet and 

it’s too late

it won’t stop, can’t stop,

the breath is everywhere, growing in strength, 

is lifting me / now see 

a Black girl fly, or a Black girl made flight

body akin to bird or plane, look—

the wingless dancing with the wind

breath can be shaped

can be fashioned into

word or song

breath be clay

I stretch my hands, curl it, wave it, squeeze it, mold it

and I can hear it

the melody of that which remains

the cries of life reckoning with death

the symphonies of gardens sprouting from grief

the rhythm in resuscitation

the persistence of protest

the stubborn staccato of laughter

ha 

    ha

ha

       ha

           ha

Black girl in the sky

Blue sky 

I got sky Blues

deep bass, dripping 

like Muddy Waters

Browns and Blues 

I was painted with Langston’s hues

I’m too Shea Butter Baby to become

Raisin in this Sun

I am from

scattered lineage

I don’t fall far

I am flying from the tree

breath transformed my branches of arms into wings

transformed my I into we

we are transforming flight, 

fashioning freedom from 

whatever breath 

we can muster

a melody

we are song

we are sung

we are running, 

breath isn’t just meant to be caught

breathe in,

and let it go

breathe in,

and let it go