America, A Problem to Puzzle Through

On second thought, I do have something more to say. Because there is a need for a record, a kind of accounting of all these becomings, unfolding into newer versions of Maria, reconciling parts of old me with new me. I have captured numerous of my changes in private journals and notes for future publications….

An Ode to Chopped Hair

My Dearest Hair, We are less than twenty-four hours away from chopping most of you off.  Well my beautiful locs, we have been here a few times before and yet, I have never experienced as much angst about the eventual chopping as I have experienced this week. I am certain it’s my age. So much…

Exploring A Deeper Love

When I was almost six, a well-meaning, white female teacher, while attempting to engage me beyond the shell of extreme shyness, managed only to mortify us both. I had been mere months in this country from my original island home and it was only my second or third day in an American classroom. My startled…

Waking Late, Blackness & Dylann Roof

1 I am, at long last, becoming the girl-woman who consistently appreciates being in her own skin. I have morphed into something other than a butterfly, which is how I used to romanticize my life in older blogging days. I used to use images of butterflies and rainbows and shit to describe the poetry of…