A Blue-Black Tulip Speaks of Blooming


I open,

like a tulip making her

annual rise from the mud. I come

from the thick of it. Thick, wet, lands

that know of stories. More than his/herstories, yes. Truths

about the thickness, the place on which our realities spring and stand

I come from there. A child of the cosmos,

searching for the sun

as I push,

out

of the mud,

that thickness, that if not tilled properly

will cause certain asphyxiation. Weaker flowers

have died, daily, annually..but always before flowering.

I’ve seen roses, supported by the bush, fall to the wayside due to the thickness.

Well, perhaps it wasn’t about the thickness at all, not about their momma or poppa

flowers pruning or the cutting edges. No, it surely was not about

the way they presented themselves before being plucked,

depetaled and deflowered. For some flowers, for most flowers,

our lives are governed by the wind,

so we relish the time we have out of the thickness,

being smiled upon by the sun

before we are plucked

by viewers that know

not our given names

they know me as

the tulip

the bright one

he who has emerged

unscathed.

But I’m Tabias

cut below and through my petals

by pluckers wishing to take me too

soon,

saved by my mothers,

sisters,

uncles

and grandmothers from

deaths known to flowers like

me, growing from stone and concrete

hiding behind those seen as weeds

for our protection,

hoping to defeat detection

of our value

to the pluckers

to our people

as more than flowers

more than tulips

as the,

living.

Follow Tabias Olajuawon on Twitter @BlaQueerFlow. Like our page on Facebook at BlaQueerFlow & Tabias Olajuawon Wilson.

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