And then what….

Who am I after February?

Once the metal detectors have turned off.

Funny, how the racism in their speech cuts deeper after the fact.

As the host announces:

Black history month is officially over,

You may now take off the sheep costume.

Funny, how many arctic wolves were already flaunting their coat.

I call it a flash sale,

As a surrogate mother I auction off my favorite memories

Because what is my life if not another face waiting to be plastered on a T-shirt?

What happens to the Black Lives Matter campaign when the cameras turn off?

When you become numb to it,

Overdosed on the opinions but ignored the desperate plea.

Who am I if not a moving target?

Plagued with the responsibility of being hyperaware.

Praying that I do not make the wrong turn,

Walk into the wrong grocery store,

Enroll my kids in the wrong school,

Or move into the wrong neighborhood.

Being a black person in America is like skating on thin ice.

No matter how fun you try to make it, eventually the ice will cave in.

As a result

I hug my loved ones tighter!

Spend countless hours talking,

losing our voices at Sunday dinner.

Silence is not welcome here!

Full belly laughter lightens the atmosphere.

Dance our love language

Unites three generations under the stars and in that moment

We are limitless!

Covering square footage at lighting speed

Fan favorites bumping in the speakers

The Cupid shuffle, Wobble and the Electric Slide are staples

Songs that my grandparents can never move to but love to watch as their grandchildren grin from ear to ear

These are the moments I bottle up.

The ones I cherish the most

As the night comes to an end we depart

Gather our hugs, kisses, and leftovers.

We know this will always be home

The house that my parents and I were raised in

This is our safe haven

A place where we can be ourselves

Unapologetically

Once everyone is gone the chores begin

Funny, how everyone is willing make a mess

But no one offers to help you clean it up,

As we clean the best moments from the night surface

Giving us a topic of conversation

Then it is time for showers

My Tasmanian devil of a brother will do anything to get out of bathing

A lawyer in the courtroom he quickly turns our bathroom into a trail

Begins to negotiate the terms of his bathing contract and ends up conceding

Calls for me when he is finished and begs me to cuddle with him until he falls asleep.

In this moment he is the caretaker and the caretakee all in one

I remind him that the world is not this pure.

I know I cannot protect them from everything,

but I teach him to speak as politely as possible.

Because blue badges have never been kind to black faces!

I read with him

Teach him that words are bullets, and you cannot just fire them out of anger.

Together we learn self control

Why don’t they like us?

They have given us an entire month to celebrate our culture

I am in tears trying to explain hate to a boy who knows only how to love.

But he sees it, keeping him in the dark does not protect him

It puts him as risk

I am afraid of this sweet boy asking simple questions as a cop unloads an entire clip

I repeat I cannot protect him from everything

As tears race down my face

After the celebration I am his protector in every aspect of the word

Because a surrogate mother may not have birthed him, but he is hers.