For All Its Worth

There are a thousand names for the black woman daughter of RA daughter of Ankh-clad Son of God African mother the fruits of civilization sister womb-man queen with a K and a host of other names that smell like incense somebody else’s ancestors and gas station dashikis and then there are names that taste like the gritty rubber of pavement.

Like a knee to the neck like somebody shit they mistook for a burning bush. And I choose not to say those names because I refuse to scrub my tongue of its gold just to entertain the air with lies.

But if you must say my name though hold every letter every syllable like a necklace of diamonds neither meant for adornment nor the adoration of your tongue.

So do not assume that my name was ever meant to bow down to the gravity of your English instead.

Treat my name like birds.

When you hear it in fleeting flight across the soundscape. Let it fly there. Let it be fly there without entering the lagging bumble of your voice to detangle everything that is nappy and free about my name and in those moments where my name perches on the tongue like a 2 ton palace.

Resist the urge to get lazy. Resist the urge to respect me with whatever overarching pseudonym.

While all the while refusing to unravel the very raw pulse of my name what I’m really trying to say is if you don’t call me black girl magic I’d prefer you just call me by my name.

I already know my own alchemy. I don’t need no overcook metaphore for Dark Arts or cryptic sorcery to understand that when my society gives me lemons I just use them to keep my edges proper. So if what you’re going after is respect. Just take a trusted mug of Lipton and the Book of Life and sit down and pour over every black girl name like a prayer.

And that inevitable moment when your mouth snags the wrong sound on the entrails of our names and we are quick to correct to you.

It may hurt it may seem like we are being mean about it but you must understand that our names tag the air like permanent marker. So when you get it wrong you insult its formation and we must check you. As black women. We are rekindling the gold standard and calling it mirror. We are taking every ugly wrong wretched moniker and repurposing it into ash. And that is exactly how we will love ourselves in a world that has not thrown nor snap of praise nor a crown for any of us so if you must say my name first drape your words in purple then ask how I want my name to be said and I will tell you to leave me alone to dance by myself. Me my thousand sisters an our thousand skins and that my loves.

Is the proper pronunciation of my name.