The Stars and the Blackness Between Them

by Junauda Petrus

All of us got poetry in us, ’cause our lives are in constant motion and unfolding, and when we observe it and behold it, it becomes poetry.

“I love you, Audre. I love you, Audre. I love you. I won’t let nothing happen to you. This is your body. It belongs to you. These are your hands. They belong to you. These are your feet. They belong to you. I love you, Audre.” I say things to myself, like I is a sweet grandma. Like I is my own ancestor. And I say it to me from me. “I love you, Audre. You are safe.”

I protect that young boy’s soul by reminding him he is infinite, like the stars and the blackness between them.

“The Blackness between the stars is the melanin in your skin,”

“I read it in a book. I take it to mean that as Black folks we are limitless. That, maybe, our blackness holds our ancient cosmic memory. What if our wisdom can come from our dreams, not just churches and Bibles?” he asked, looking away from the stars and looking at me, and I could tell he was serious.

“Healing is like falling in love, but deeper. You unite with someone so that you can work alchemy with they soul. So that they might elevate and revive them and heal not only them but their ancestors. And like love, if you don’t know how to protect yourself, it could consume you.”

You heal through the compassion you give to yourself.

Remember you are an astronaut of the soul. May you find solace in your travel to another star.

If I’m going to be learning anything new before I die, I would rather it be stuff like this and other stuff that feeds my soul.

‘If I didn’t define myself for myself, I would be crunched up into other people’s fantasies for me and eaten alive.’”

“We are what life makes us; even if it’s a tragedy, sometimes you can still blossom something fruitful from it.”