"Identity," A Poetry Post

I'm BLACK black.
I'm even if you check
way back in my lineage
you gone find more
dark chocolate Black than
light brown Black black
in the past. I'm
dry peas in the crock pot
with ham hock and
salt pork in the greens
Black. I'm
Grandmama could
cook and eat them
chitterlings
Black. I'm
press if you want but
no curl result Black.
Had your back
before you asked
Black. Thick hipped,
full-lipped Black.
Ain't gone holler gone
make that face Black.
Done told you once and
ain't gone tell you twice
Black. Deep down
key of G on an
August night in Jersey
with no A/C Black.
Kool-aid when it was
ten cents Black.
Puerto Rican icees and
Swedish fish from the
corner store Black.
Sit up and read by the
street light Black.
Get down when you hear
gunshots Black.
Ain't no need in me
trying to pretend that
three degrees or a
pay increase or a
brand new lease on a
Mercedes or a
new wardrobe and
high end pantyhose or a
brand new nose could
propose to make me
anything less than
been broke Black and
been cold Black and
been shame Black.
Nothing gone get me
out of all that.
Nothing gonna drive the
obsidian
out of this clod of dirt
on God's earth.
Nothing gonna make me
less Black
under any circumstances.
Nothing gonna take away
that part
of my
identity.

-T. D. James-Moss