For Jazmine Rogers, with great respect.
Her roar is small
For now
But you can hear what it will be
Still she
Waits impatiently for the shine of her own sweet self
To dim so she can handle it
She can’t see it quite yet
Oh but she sees much
Her black child magic
Brown child grace
Cafe Latte soul
A butterfly
But not quite
Her wings are still drying
Begging to begin
Her roar is small
It tickles in her throat
She’s full of her own hopes
Like a dream coming true on a Sunday afternoon
Just after a cleansing rain
She is my daughter
She is my reminder
She doesn’t even know
The ocean of her own
Complexities
Hidden in her peppery eyes
And talented tresses
Her roar is small
But I heard it
Heard all of it
And I beg her as I beg myself
Stand on strong legs
In love with it
Nurturing it
Studying it
Not apologizing for it
Giving nothing power over it
This link to her power
Her roar is small
But the little lioness is waking
You felt it
That rumbling in the back of your spirit
Telling you to hear it
Because she will not be denied
In spite
Of the glorious gilded cage
The world has made
She has and is the key
To her own self
Being free
Blessedly
Her roar is small
But only for now
