by Wayetu Moore

We lived in Harlem before there was a Mac on 125th
I remember it like yesterday, went to P.S. 36.
I’d gotten spit on by a boy from Spanish Harlem named Chris
Cause he didn’t like my dark skin and pigtails.
You didn’t say much but you still spoke to me.
Marched right up to the school shortly thereafter,
Rectified Chris Cabeza and the New York Public Schooling
System,
And I remember thinking,
“I like him”

Momma went to Columbia, I remember playing on the steps.
Saw crackheads mourn…. Around the time of hip-hop’s death
I just tried to blend in, wanted to be like the rest….
And now I’m so glad that you talked me out of it.
You taught me to daydream since nightmares met my sleep,
Taught me to read people and the lines in between,
Taught me to fight for justice whenever it was needed,
Helped me talk to God; I was second to the right of five
on my knees….
And when I’d crack my eye open, you were watching me;
And I’d smirk, and you’d smile,
And I’d think
“I love him”

You sang me Stevie Wonder,
I danced on Columbia steps, each level reconstructing home,
Each year, taming my childhood fantasies of broadway spotlights
And front row seats
& I waited for you to come home from work just so I could
Race the girls to be the first in your arms.
And yet I’m sorry I ever stopped running.

For each time I met you, I loved myself more,
Flew higher,
Dreamed bigger.
Each time you caught me,
Though restless from working
In a country that denies your worth,
Though tired from working
To build us a castle out of two pennies and God,
I felt stronger.
And I Thank you.

For every grade of 95, you spoke of the missing
five points.
Every tear met your murmur of “it’s okay”;
Frustrated as you realized that all of my problems
Were not as easy to solve as Chris Cabeza…
Yet you still found ways to make me smile.

Yesterday someone called me a grown woman
And I couldn’t wait to tell you.
Daddy, I’m a woman now.
My pigtails have unraveled
To variations of Indonesia and an untamed fro.
I understand people, I fight for social justice,
And
I talk to God.

Your dream building has set the course of my life.
Your standard has tried their patience,
Your love has tested time,
And I’m in awe.

And every now and then when I hear a door creak,
When the light from outside raises me,
A part of me still wants to race the girls to meet you.
Every now and then,
When I grow tired of dancing,
And the abundance of my dreams blur my thoughts,
When I misplace the five points,
I want to run with everything inside of me,
Against the northeastern wind, rain, and high-water,
in hopes that I make it in time to meet you when you get home from work.
In hopes that I can race the girls into your arms.

Thank you for my dark skin and pigtails. I’ll always dream big.