Nikki Giovanni-Black Poetic Angel at Rest
(June 7, at 1943 — December 9, 2024)
When death comes
to steal you away
in the night,
like some conductor
on the underground railroad,
do not mistake it for Sistah Harriet.
When death comes
banging on the tom toms,
and playing Freedom Suite
as if Max Roach
was in de house
twirling his drum sticks and pounding
out syncopated rhythms
of boom boom boom shakalakala
boom boom shakalakala boom,
do not confuse death’s orchestra with the ancestral tom toms that once convinced some
of our ancestors
that they could fly,
and when confronted
with the prospect
of eternal servitude to the white demons who kidnapped them
and stowed them away on ships,
they gathered up the chains
that linked hundreds of black cargo together side by side in a hole,
and slid into the sea
feet first,
before the links were broken;
and those left behind
swore in Yoruba,Swahili, and many more languages, that the chained ones touched bottom,
drowned, but later ascended to the sky,
as the people who could fly,
protected by Oshun
to open the gateway
between life and death
and carry them back home to Africa
once and forever.
Nikki, time to rest,
you gave us words of fire,
that always lifted us up
with phoenix-like magic;
you gave us imagery of our Blackness as a power that justified our communal
“ego-tripping.”
You warned us
in your poetry
that was floetry
decades before
that word was invented,
like a Black Cassandra,
you prophesized the dangers
we face routinely as Black people:
breathing while Black
living while Black
walking while Black
driving while Black
thinking while Black
loving while Black,
and
for just being born Black.
You shared with us your brillance and resilience
through the words of fire you wrote/spoke/gifted to us.
We will miss you
Nikki Giovanni,
Black poetic angel extraordinaire
who wrote to us
and for us;
gave us Black folk,
and the world,
a legacy of words
that exuded courage:
words of truthtelling
words of Black magic
words of inspiration
words of your life
words of your vision
words of love
for us,
your global Black community.
Miss you?
Without question,
we will.
Time to Rest
like the Black Poetic Angel you are,
for we know
the next time it rains,
we will be able to hear
your floetry between
the water droplets
and feel
your inspirational power
manifested
as thunder & lightening.
Asè.
(c) 2024 Irma McClaurin
(Images from (L) wikipedia c. 1980 and (R) Bookcover of “A Good Cry: What We Learn from Tears and Laughter”)
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