BLACK WOMAN'S SONG

hairy legs in the kitchen by Phelan Marc

"You can't match the power of this image with the right words that can capture poem of the moment, the fierceness of Black Women's energies together in harmony, or the sheer beauty of the gathering. Reminds me of the days spent in outdoor cafes in Morocco, as a young man. We would drink tea, and have long political discussions, or jive talk for a few hours. There were so many days like this.

Women were rarely sitting in cafes unless accompanied by their husbands, but they were everywhere walking to and fro in traditional garb or Western clothes. Either way Moroccan women's beauty is profound. We spent a lot of time watching women in those days, and talking about all the ideas they inspired or generated by their presence or the religious laws that mentored our perceptions.

We could tell the nationalities of people by their walks. It was a game we played. Whenever a Black American woman would wade through the crowds a hush would descend upon all of us. There was an intangible no one could grasp, explain, or not be mystified by that Black American embodied, and employed to empower something we could not quite see. We would discuss this forever, and never came up with an answer that met and matched what we experienced. Did we happen upon a mystery never meant to unraveled?

Many years became decades before I realized we were gazing upon the primary, and primal energies of African energies, blood and essence that had mingled, through struggle, with the energies, the blood and essence of other races. This interdependence, this exchange, this history of abuse, bondage, rape, and creative survival created an intangible mysticism, and a relationship with powers never before seen, created, fathomed, and expressed in a woman's body: The Black Experience." - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories

Faith

Taraji P. Henson 8