Petrichor*

Little one, please wait for the rain.

I hear your quiet words at dusk’s end,

where the sky is the only one listening

to the girl with midnight skin,

who never learned to stand.

You don’t know the strength

that runs through your effervescent veins,

that surviving is in, is, your blood

and the world tries to tell you

black girls aren’t good enough.

But little one, please wait for the rain

because I see the sunlight

in your melanin even when the moon

steals it away.

You hold the space around you

the way darkness holds galaxies

and I promise you,

you are no less lovely.

Little black girl, I am not blind

to the pooling in your eyes,

but I need you to feel the heartbeat

of kings and queens in the ebb of the Atlantic.

A storm away, the saccharine scent of

Victory waits to breathe

into the rise of an arid day,

so, please wait for the rain.

It’s coming.

 

*Petrichor: A pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.

Image by Bianka Bell

By Skylar Wilson  

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