A Space Beyond the Kitchen

From a home, where loud, yet weary voices reign My voice echoes like a Whale in the Atlantic squeaks; For a space to yield in, Perhaps, to seal a better space. Never again shall the kitchen be my only place! Yesterday, Mama didn’t dine with the nobles; But like an ancient maiden, she cleaned Caesar’s table. Mama Watta’s dreams-endless as the ocean; But buried like dirt in a hole. Denied permit to achieve the pillar of success, she leaned on a weak pole. A Sandy member, with a mutilated genital; As a teen, her womanhood stolen, her pride taken. Where was Justice when that happened? She was fed to behold the kitchen as her only place; So she sat there in grieve, and prepared Toboggie. Coming of age with 14 peaceful years enshrined in blood She saw busters; they carried AK-47 on their shoulders. They found solace in stopping breath. They fed on women, and flew sky free like mockingbirds. Where was equity when violence prevailed? Unlike mama, the surreal in me shall blaze. I shall stand barricaded by: Justice, Equity, Freedom, Peace, Because you and me weigh the same on a beam balance; I too, must have a saying like the loud and weary voices. For you and me, a pledging tree with 75 branches, planted. For you and me, a branch on the tree bears three fruits. I too, must feed on those fruits. I too, must have a space under the shadow of that branch. A space to achieve the pillar of success; A space to say in my democracy, A space beyond the kitchen.