The Pleasure of Being Seen : Homecoming 2019

“Our mothers and grandmothers… moving to music not yet written.” Alice Walker, Spelman College 1965

I stood on a hill in the open air and watched a star explode against the heavy fabric of the night sky. I was there when it first started to twinkle brightly against the night sky. I watched its light grow brighter as I grew larger. I saw colors I never thought were possible. I felt a warmth radiating from the heavens that felt all too familiar. I saw her. That absolute being high above me in the night sky.

Hips, hair, then body made themselves clear. Her own hands making sense of the chaos as they worked beams of light in her image. Others caught sight of her magic and gravitated towards her, pulled and encouraged by her efforts. The Cosmos swirled at her command. The Heavens sang, one note and then more, stepped to her beat, jumped at their cue. The Stars were dancing. Twinkling lights grew brighter as life was breathed into them.

Tears as bright as diamonds welled up behind my lashed before reaching out and diving, riding the contours of my cheeks upon their descent. Water from the well she spoke of stained my cheeks and she looked at me. I looked at her.

Beyoncé. The first-ever black woman to headline Coachella.

~

“When I speak of the erotic, then, I speak of it as an assertion of the lifeforce of women; of that creative energy empowered, the knowledge and use of which we are now reclaiming in our language, our history, our dancing, our loving, our work, our lives. (Audre Lorde, “Uses of the Erotic”).”

~

My jaw dropped when the camera changed in the middle of “Crazy in Love.” Not one dancer was out of place.

I wept when the Black National Anthem was the second song. Black bodies stood proudly, stepped gracefully, shouted loudly, HA as flames erupted behind them.

I came to slay, bitch.

The swag surfin’ bit should have been longer. I had just started sweating.

My body moved unconsciously then with purpose to “Mi Gente,” anticipating the choreography before it came on stage. My body moved unconsciously then with purpose to Baby Boy. Did she get the inspiration for the pyramid structure from Rihanna’s 2016 VMA performance of” Work,” “Rude Boy,” and “What’s My Name”?  When Rihanna performed I wanted nothing more than to be in that crowd of dancers behind her. I wanted to drown in bright colors and energy that moved like the that waves crashed onto the Jamaican sand, the Barbadian sand. That one was for me. It was for us. This was like that. This is for us. Beyonce gave us two hours of us.

I made a note to commit the steppers’ three-part choreography during “Soldier.” It looked so much like the one I learned in high school. I’ll teach my daughter if she wants to learn.

My sister and I jumped up off the couch in our living room when Solange ran on stage. That was our cue. My sister’s face is so round. She is lighter than I am. She’s a Cancer. Her voice is breathtaking, like a roaring river. I am an Aries. My face changes. I am darker than she is. My eyes shine like raging starlight, illuminating the room with my energy.

I remember the 2017 Grammy performances Beyonce and Solange did.  Sun and Moon. Beyonce draped in glittering gold and maternal warmth while Solange shone in an icy blue and defiant freedom. In that moment they made it clear that they are goddesses on Earth. I don’t think they ever lost that title. Their images did not fade away in the sea of media that floods our brains today. Their influence surpasses fads or trends. Shine down from above, graciously. Inviting, but firm.

Beyonce was shakin that ass.

Beyonce said nigga.

Beyonce said SUCK ON MY BALLS

PAUSE

The detail. The bar. The range.

Ain’t that about a bitch? Twice. We have to be twice as good to get half as much. She was born here. She made this table with her bare hands. Wood from her garden. Food from her crops. Wine from her grapes. The water that runneth through the pipes of this house is mixed with sweat and blood and tears and unspoken secrets. What she may have seen. What she may have heard. What she had to endure to survive. Considering. She has so much more than half. We all sit at the table. We were invited. We wear our best clothes. We planned our outfits ordered and shipped our garments to your houses nine months in advance. You know what you must do to secure next years ticket to the table. Bring your best.

Our power is so much more than what they let us see. It is more than what I can see. If there is some power for her, some power for her team, there is some for me. A never-ending well, deeper than my years stacked on top of each other and a stone thrown over the edge that doesn’t make a sound. Made of crystals, gems, and stones I’ve never seen before. Water I’ve tasted before. Our power is Godly. It is Resilient. It is Everlasting. Til victory is won.

Alright ladies now let’s get in “Formation.” Slay trick, or you get eliminated.

“We cross arms and linkup.” We were swag surfing at the celebration the BSU organized for black grads two days before the official ceremonies began.  As the first notes rang throughout the auditorium we rushed to the person standing closest to us, stood side by side, held on to each other by our shoulders, our arms, our hips, raised our voices, and swag surfed until our knees gave out. The sweat on our foreheads shone almost as brightly as our smiles.

“Mi Gente.” Blood of my Blood. “Baby Boy.” Blood of my Blood. Warmth floods my every cell. Coils through my veins like snakes on a vine. Twisting over every sinew of muscle it touched. Curving my body intelligently. Twenty-two years of her career. Twenty-two years of my life. I stepped when she stepped.

I think of my soldier. I wish he were sitting here with me. Watching this. With his Negro Nose and Jackson Five Nostrils. I wonder when he’s gonna give me his chain. Around the same time he’ll give me a ring. He’s hood in the way Beyonce meant it. He just might be a black Bill Gates in the makin’. I just might be a Black Bill Gates in the makin’.

My sister is so much like the moon. I am so much like the sun. Her face is round and bright. My face is wide and glaring. When she walks into the room, she swims, parting those around her as they step out her way and watch. When I speak the room rises in temperature, flooded with my very being until my lips close and the fire is softened to a warm glow until next time. We clash all the time, but there are moments of harmony.

~

“If I don’t see my notes applied, I don’t see why I should make new ones.” Beyonce, Homecoming 2019

One day I will meet Beyonce.

I will be on the last leg of my book tour in LA, or accepting an NAACP Image Award in New York, or on a red carpet in Hollywood for my debut movie and she will place her hand on my shoulder and smile. She will look past the tears pooling in my eyes and tell me she loved my writing. She loved the feminist themes and empowering message. She will name her favorite character and speculate what will happen next in the series as I struggle to stand. She’s clearly been on Twitter, as I’ve read some of these theories before online. I briefly wonder what her handle is. The last one is completely original, I might have to include it in my manuscript. She will tilt her head, her eyes gleaming, and try, but fail, to reign in her mischief. She asks how it will end. I will take a breath, ready to give the Queen what she asks when she waves her hand like a tulip in the wind. She says she’ll just buy it and find out. I will see her again. In her next documentary, my book is spotted on her living room table.

I will be given the stamp of approval. They will want to consume me. They’ll take what they get. Twitter will spread quotes from my book in memes. Pictures of me will be inspiration pics #bodygoals #baegoals #lifegoals.

I will live up to that standard.

~

Do you know the Black National Anthem?

I mean, I think I know it, but I don’t want to Say it and be wrong.

Lift Every Voice And Sing.

Oh yeas! We sing ‘t in church e’ry SunDay in February.

Beyonce sang it in her Coachella performance. You should watch it. You’d like it.

Instead ove hOldin hands, the way we usually do, we cross aRms and linkup. That’s how we sing.

Ooh she got it.

What?

I heard that. I heard that vibrato. That little girl is singing.

Let us march on, till vic-tor-eeeeee is wooooon, Blue finished.

It’s amazing what kids can absorb. Whatever they’re around.

Like a sponge.

I wanna do that again!

~

A spring of light was locked in a constant cycle of eruption and rest. Inspiration and learning. Execution and planning. It lay at the center of an enormous black hole.

Our Sun has evolved.

On Earth we could hear the other stars in the cosmos exploding starting the journey she laid out for them. She left the Moon in place. Earth in her place. What she takes she gives back tenfold. She gives again and again, whether we see her plan or not. Her influence pulls at my skin, at the edges of my mind, like fingertips twisting the fabric of my sleeve before giving me an instant nudge. Heat rises to the surface when I watch the cosmos dance at night, the full moon rising to join her. Diamonds filled my eyes until they resemble stars. My smile stretched as I felt my strength surge into my muscles, my blood, my soul, and back out again into the warm spring air. The wind picked up, listening. She turned her head towards me again and nodded.

I could explode.