A Woman’s Season
by Jacqueline Johnson

Excerpt

African Angel Goddess
No ethereal illuminations for her.
She was always earthbound,
attracted to nightlife, music,
places where folks were
dancing so hard,
bodies rain sweat.
African angel mother of humanity,
Lucy definitely isn’t her name.
See her wearing silver,
kicking ass, alligator boots.
Get right in my face shouting,
"girl, get the hell up!"

She wears her halo glinting
across her delta wide forehead.
The harp and horn thing she left
in heaven, but she’ll walk you
through any adversity knowing
all pathways in and out of hell.

She can visit wearing many disguises,
rags so dense
only the gold of her face is visible.
She speaks Mandarin,
Bantu, and Twi, same
sweet mother tongue to her.

Will meet you at the river Styx,
bored with crossing over
in that riggedy ass boat.
Might even give you a second chance,
cause its rebirth
and life that interests her.
She’s in the smoke where
women gather bearing arms,
refusing to be raped, murdered
and refugeed from their homes.
Women of war in Liberia,
Rwanda, Sierre Leone.
Women in Abuja,
Capetown, Harlem, Arusha.
New women everywhere,
gather to give birth to
a future we can inhabit.