ROSES ARE RED. . .

Here I am, Dawn Wolf, with my cousin Marsha in DC 2002. Marsha and her family had come to Washington DC to see the city. It was during the Cherry Blloosom season. Usually people flock to the same spot to see the Cherry Blossoms on the Tidal Basin. There is no way it can be a joy. There are thousands of people bumping into each other to see the trees in a small space along the banks of the Tidal Basin. I decided to take my cousins on my tour; the Chocolate City tour.

Washington DC has been know as Chocolate City for many decades. The population of the city has been historically in the upper percentile regions, say 80% Black until recently with gentrification, or the shove 'em out movement policy of  late.  We are standing in front of a Cherry Blossom tree. I have a secret place in the open within the city seldom visited by people. It is a sanctuary of Cherry Blossoms you can slowly walk through and 'feel' the tree's personalities. 

"I remember when I used to buy myself roses. I needed to at the time. I would carry a dozen roses during the day sometimes. Women would smile, and some would tease wanting a rose, or thinking I was courting someone would make suggestive comments or show me cleavage, or thigh. I wasn't. I was affirming myself. A number of men thought otherwise. Some thought I was trying to get laid, others thought I was visiting several women on the same sweep through the town. Occasionally, a man would discern something deeper and make a cryptic statement to which I would nod affirming his suspicion.

I was seeking solace. I was comforting myself with a collective story about beauty, and color, and sound. Flowers and birds carry sounds we all glean from in the most subtle of ways. We intuit the answers to prayers and wishes in the things we carry, and keep around us. There is a voice from on high, but an untrained ear looking to hear the voice of God is often disappointed particularly, if their their minds have been taught not to 'see' to hear the voices of living things from stones to birds to trees and water." - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 8.30.12

Rose between Rihanna's thighs