All posts by Janee Everett

Bambara My Word Is My Bond!

Bambara, Fiction

In your opinion, how carefully should parents and elders in families speak around young children? Should they only tell the truth, no matter how brutal, or should they shield kids by saying only the “nice things”? Should adults mean what they say, ie, “my word is my bond,” when dealing with children? Or should they allow children to see how little words can mean, how unstable life can be? Should adults avoid “just teasin” kids?

When it comes to children they should always be handled with care. Sometime we as adults do not realize how much children pay attention to the things we say to them and around them. I am a strong believer in teaching children by reality and not fairy tale. Children are easly influenced by things that they hear and see.

Nergo Jackson Blackface

Erasure Poem, Poetry, Uncategorized 
 I said it
            buying a gun
for my kind

To be safe,
                                      
                 Our song plays
     Girl Don’t you know you’re a Negro? What in the hell?                                                              A confession
                       I do not know precisely
               I approximate myself as something to celebrate.
I                                                                                                     Dress-up
                                                            to get blessed. 
     hiding, shoulder to door jamb and maybe
a rifle.                                                                                                                                                                                                              scared shitless to leave 
                                   that way.
The glass is                            empty now.                                 

desperate
                              Isn't repentance itself

in the palms.    never ever stop thinking          
how it ends.             when the other you eats you             Sometimes
 white lovers, I ask permission
                                to show my dark.                                                                                                                                                                            devils underground

Where I’m From

Where I'm From

Where I’m From

Where I’m From

I am from dominoes
from Cafe Bustelo and corner bodegas.
I am from the concrete jungle, tall buildings, cigar smoke, loud music and street fights.
I am from the dandelions and daisies,
the pick, blow and make a wish and the decorations to put in my afro puffs.
I am from huge Sunday dinners and laughter,
from Rosetta
and Joseph and our blended family.
I am from the children putting on shows for the adults in living rooms
and dancing whenever good music is playing.
From it takes a village to raise a child and if you don’t stand up for something you will fall for anything.
I am from Baptist Christian faith. The songs touch the pits of your soul and you shout with your feet.
I’m from the South Bronx where my African American, Japanese, Dominican and Jamaican roots raised me.
Fresh cooked collard greens and tres leches cakes.
The list could go on for days but these hit the spot.
From the Great grandma beat up a man once she was tough and she owned a two barrel shot gun. “Not great-grandma” while laughing
and the Uncle with the slick back ponytail that always wears a cap. Under that cap he was Mr.Clean.
I am from the black and white photos on the wall at my great-grandma’s house in Tapma Florida. The children drawing with chalk on the sidewalks, jumping rope and playing tag. Scraped up knees and Mister Softee ice cream trucks. This may be have been the trenches to some but it has been paradise to me.

                                                                                By: Janee Everett