That shame, or the memory of it, is still crystal clear within me. It’s like a thistle in my chest that sometimes pokes me and stings for a while, but for the most part, it rests there, safely surrounded by flesh. My blackness is like water that has been filtered through generations of bodies and now rests in my hands, my belly, my forehead, my ass. It’s always with me, and one fine day, I will send it onward to yet another generation, which in turn will be able to influence what it means to live a life bearing these drops of midnight.
