the African-American experience is something very unique-

 eccentric

and it may not apply to everybody, but it pertains to me in specific.

so you might not get it

but if you get it, it’s because you lived it.

and if you are a tree, sprouted from blackness

it is important to nurture the roots

and not forget where you came from.

so in the event that your tree has grown ever so tall 

and you have started to forget what it is to be a seed in the ground

and you have started to forget home…

perhaps, I can help you recall what home looks like..

smells like..

tastes like..

sounds like..

and FEELS like.

Home.

Home looks like family dancing in the backyard at a cookout 

and grandmama sitting on the porch like a lookout

Mothers,

 Fathers,

Old folks,

Toddlers

…little cousins dance battling for 5 dollars

We may have not had money 

but we didn't know it

we were too busy “stickin' and rollin'”

Home. 

Home smells like cocoa butter and vaseline

Or getting your hair sprayed with Oil Sheen

Like incense. Up on the counter, burning

like cleaning products on a Sunday morning

Home. 

Home sounds like kids playing and laughing in the road

sounds like "Be home 'fore them streetlights come on!"

sounds like the hot comb sizzling on a burning stove

sounds like "Girl, stop movin' 'fore I pop you with this comb!" 

Home.

Home taste like cornbread and collard greens

like candied yams and mac and cheese

like honey drippas, on a hot summer day

like the kool-aid jammers we got instead of Caprisuns but still drank them anyway. 

Home.

Home FEELS..

like mama making sure you always had something to eat

making sure you never walked out of the house ashy

making sure your scalp was greased

putting clothes on your back and shoes on your feet-

Do you get it now?

Don’t you see?

Don’t you know, that when feelings of forgetfulness begins to boil

 To reach for your roots.

and feel what it is to have been a seed in the soil.