For Fannie Lou Hamer

Born October 6,1917 in Mississippi. 

When meditating on lavender, we considered the perspective of my great-grandmother on rest. On resisting the urge to call on our dead for the purpose of giving them the space t0 rest. We thought about honoring our ancestors who exist in our bodies by granting ourselves the space to rest. 

Death.

For some, an anxious reminder of mortality. Of end. A trigger of grief and chaos of crashing. The moment of judgement.

For others, a sacred right of passage. A reminder of life. A necessary part of a continuous cycle. 

There are many perspectives, rituals, and ways to interpret death.

On today, October 6th, we honor the dead by honoring life. We remember this day as a birthing. The beginning of a cycle. The end of many others. 

Today we honor our dead by choosing to remember. Fannie Lou Hamer, on this day you were born, 1917. On today, 42 years after your passing in 1977, we choose to remember the multitudes of your life. 

We remember your values, Fannie Lou Hamer. “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free”. Your investments into farm lands through the Freedom Farm Cooperative, with the understanding that “If we have that land,” as she once put it, “can’t anybody starve us out.”  “The time has come now when we are going to have to get what we need ourselves. We may get a little help, here and there, but in the main we’re going to have to do it ourselves,” we uplift your values of sustainability and nourishing our tired working bodies. We uplift your values around civic engagement, your fight to ensure the rights of black people to vote and engage with the systems in ways they are free to choose, a crucial voice within the civil rights movement.

We remember your violence endured and survived, Fannie Lou Hamer. The ways doctors took liberties over your body through unconsented hysterectomies, the ways this was endured in community of black women, the “mississippi appendectomy”  , an atrocity still bleeding into today. We remember your testimony, recounting the vile beatings and abuses of poilce officers while you sat in a jail cell due to your efforts in registering to vote. The violence of your livelihood threatened daily in a sharecroppers field doing back breaking work in unjust conditions of poverty. 

We remember the new worlds you dreamt and conjured, Fannie Lou Hamer. Freedom schools, Freedom Farm Cooperatives, Homes, Schools, and Organizing collectives. The inspired minds whose seeds blossomed under your guidance. 

We remember your whole human, Fannie Lou Hamer. That you grieved, that you loved, that you sang and sang and sang, and that kept you alive. We remember that even the moments we never had the opportunity to witness, your moments of quiet, of doubt, of mistakes, quiet anger and personal failures. We remember that you ached, and breathed, and moved.

We want rest for you, Fannie Lou Hamer. Your cycles continue within us here and now. We thank you We thank you.

(click links to be directed to articles and videos to learn more about the key words mentioned in the text)

More About The Author

Ashley Davis is a black queer femme womxn (they/she) artist, poet, human. Born in California, currently based in Philly with her Grandmother and Great Grandmother. Ashley writes to center the inter generational black femme and build spaces for rest and inner children to play. Ashley has upcoming work being published in anthologies and  literary journals such as Apiary, The Shade Journal, and work currently published in WusGood. Ashley was part of 2017 Voices of Our Nation (VONA) cohort facilitated by Patricia Smith, was a member of the ‘House Slam’ slam team in 2016 where the team placed 3rd at the National Poetry Slam Competition (NPS) and where Ashley was a 2nd place finalist at the National Underground Poetry Slam Competition (NUPIC). Find Ashley on instagram @ashleydavis_art     twitter @ashleydavisart

by ashley davis

after the song cycle Honey and Rue (1992): a composition for soprano, orchestra, and ‘occasional jazz combo.’ The American soprano Kathleen Battle read the words of the poet Toni Morrison and commissioned Morrison and the composer André Previn for a song cycle.

part 2: rue

“Do you know him?”

praise is clearer in soliloquy a capella. vibrations spiral back to me turning on it’s note something like desire with an empty background. Sometimes grief and praise feel like the same thing, both leave us on our knees in a quiet room, hoping for an answer back. only hearing our own voice.

“I Am Not Seaworthy”

*a golden shovel 

heavy wooden beads parts zigzagging in magic patterns, Look

at all those eyes, green and wide, open mouths,  pointing, diving, How

They swim in my waves, caught in the coils They 

Smell of me now. Mistake 

My scalp for the dirt beneath their nails. My 

cries quiet under snapping knots of spiraled Hair 

tangled around atlantic cod fingers. are you crying For 

something you think is yours? Something like Home

“Take My Mother Home”

My sister and my baby, my siblings and their grannies, Bury them in an amazon before it burns into the night let them feel first a soil meant to give, a soil warm with pulsating heart. let them swim in the ocean above the trees. let them breathe with the roots that stretch into lungs. let them breathe. let them breathe. let them breathe. let them breathe. let them breathe……

may you rest in place you imagined as home

Photo of Morrison taken by Timothy Greenfield-Sanders

click here to learn more about the *golden shovel form created by Terrance Hayes

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More About The Author

photo by Sabrina Pantal

Ashley Davis is a black queer femme (they/she) artist, poet, human. Born in California, currently based in Philly with her Grandmother and Great Grandmother. Ashley writes to center the inter generational black femme and build spaces for rest and inner children to play. Ashley has work published in anthologies and literary journals such as Apiary, The Shade Journal, and Wusgood.  Ashley was part of 2017 Voices of Our Nation (VONA) cohort facilitated by Patricia Smith, was a member of the ‘House Slam’ slam team in 2016 where the team placed 3rd at the National Poetry Slam Competition (NPS) and where Ashley was a 2nd place finalist at the National Underground Poetry Slam Competition (NUPIC).

Find Ashley on instagram @ashleydavis_art     twitter @ashleydavisart

by ashley davis

after the song cycle Honey and Rue (1992): a composition for soprano, orchestra, and ‘occasional jazz combo.’ The American soprano Kathleen Battle read the words of the poet Toni Morrison and commissioned Morrison and the composer André Previn for a song cycle.

Part 1: honey

honey so sweet

honey so slow

honey so wanted

honey so valuable

honey so healing

honey so soothing

honey so smart

honey so thick

honey so wanted 

honey so valuable

honey so gold so gold so gold

honey so protected, so protected, so protected

honey so wanted

honey so valuable

lick honey off your fingers

lock honey in a jar

honey so wanted

honey so wanted 

so wanted 

so wanted

“First I’ll Try Love”

hope, blossoms, sags a sunflower face stretched over a telephone line, sweet anticipation, desire. desire. desire. beesgone, flower yearning and overflowing. birds choking at the hands of predator cats. i hear it cawing from behind the screen. i stay in my chair, eating a full meal. i only have the impulse to shut the window. i wish i wish i wish i had an open heart. i, the play toy for claws and hungry teeth. cicadas sing a waving pulse and the cat-o-nine tails wave and wave and wave. don’t say i did not try. to sit on a cool porch in august. the mosquitos bit and bit and drank the flesh. I am no longer interested in the sun… 

“Whose House Is This?”

this house not mine. this house dropped on my head like the wicked witch. pile of bricks. if the hills and the waters are gone from my eyes i built tall windows, planted peach trees in empty lots, catfish with their gupping mouths and long wise ‘staches the color of orange blossom papered to the ceiling, there is water because i made it so, there is green because i made it so, there is music hammered into the stairway, because i made it so. take me away from my home and i will keep building it, keep building it, keep building it… 

“The Town Is Lit”

built my home so nice now. the town is lit and busy and i’m burnt out, i roll across a red couch in a sleepy cafe can’t sleep cant sleep the city is for sale. trying to give my great granny cash for ghosts too expensive. she built her home so nice. it’s been suggested: music cafe’s and burning night lights, my grandma swings her teenage ghost feet at her West Philly High prom inside a UPenn Med students living room, sweats her press& curl under the ceiling fan, catches her reflection in the big screen tv and pauses. the town is lit, is alive, dancing in the cafe’s music under the dirt of stale buildings in the bedrooms of newborn babies of families hailing from white picket fences, and porch swings…

…..to be continued

More About The Author

Ashley Davis is a black queer femme (they/she) artist, poet, human. Born in California, currently based in Philly with her Grandmother and Great Grandmother. Ashley writes to center the inter generational black femme and build spaces for rest and inner children to play. Ashley has upcoming work being published in the anthology ‘A Garden Of Black Joy: Global Poetry From The Edges Of Liberation & Living'(2019), Apiary (2019), The Shade Journal (2019), and work currently published in WusGood. Ashley was part of 2017 Voices of Our Nation (VONA) cohort facilitated by Patricia Smith, was a member of the ‘House Slam’ slam team in 2016 where the team placed 3rd at the National Poetry Slam Competition (NPS) and where Ashley was a 2nd place finalist at the National Underground Poetry Slam Competition (NUPIC). Find Ashley on instagram @ashleydavis_art     twitter @ashleydavisart

by ashley davis

Tell me what it’s like to live so long. My life goes by so fast compared to yours. Do you get sad, seeing so much death around you? Asked the Fig Wasp to the Sycamore Tree.

“The thing about being here for hundreds of years and having a family history that dates back millions of years, is we get to see many full cycles complete and begin again in this world. Yes, there is death. But, we witness how death always makes room for more life, all kinds of life. We even get to see how those who are typically prey to larger predators, are always evolving to survive them. Everything is learning from each other. All of us. 

I guess this is the long winded way to say, yes death is plenty, and so is life. We always begin again.”  Replied the Sycamore tree. 

Thank you Sycamore Tree, that makes me feel better. 

“You’re welcome Fig Wasp. Now, can you tell me what it’s like to fly?” 

Oh yes, i’d love to! It is my favorite part of life. I suppose, maybe it’s something like………

Can you come outside to play with me? What do you want to do? Can we go climb trees connected to rooftops! Or make loud noises and run away before aunty neighbor comes outside to get us. Can we roll in the dirt and look for centipedes and follow the ant trails until they take us to their captain! What if we played super hero. Can I be the golden eagle, can my colors be black and gold, can i have wings that are bigger than the whole block! I’ll race you, bet you I’ll win! The objective of the game is to touch Ms. Shirleys house and not to get caught by Ms. Shirley sittin on her porch! I wanna be a spy when i grow up! Did you leave the note in the secret hiding place we found last week? Do you like me too? Remember that time mamma caught us trying to ditch school to go to the roller rink?! Let’s make up a dance! Can I be the lead singer in the band? Look at this song I wrote! Look at this story I wrote! Pssst. I heard the person in that house is a witch and if you knock on the door they gonna come and get you! Sometimes the animals talk to me, I talk back. Have you met my friend George? You can’t really see him, but he’s sitting right here next to me. He tells me you are very pretty. Wanna build a spaceship! Wanna play some basketball? Wanna play some hide n seek? Freezetag? Red Rover? The boys at school didn’t let me play football with them, so I kicked them in the shin!

Let’s play kickball. Let’s play unicorns, I’m a rainbow pink one! Let’s play mermaid, my fin is sparkly blue! I have a crush on you. Let’s do a prayer to the make the rain go away so granny can take us swimming! Rain Rain Go Away Come Again Another Day! We aren’t friends anymore because you dropped my stuffed animal taffy! Can I come over and spend the night?!  I read in a book once that someone tied a note to a balloon and someone else found it, and they became pen pals! Let’s do that! I can’t wait for Santa Claus to come! Can we make cookies? Can i eat cookies for dinner? Can I paint my nails? Can he paint his nails? Can they paint their nails? Sometimes I run so fast my own feet can’t keep up! Let’s have a talent show! Sometimes I read my book under my covers at night with a flashlight when mom thinks i’m sleeping. Wanna race? Wanna see who can jump the highest? I spent all day trying to move that lamp with my eyes, I think I almost got it! Look it’s a rainbow! This time I’m the fairy princess. This time I get to be batman! Look out! It’s the big spider monster coming to eatttttt uuuuussssss! I had a dream i was flying!! 

I had a dream i was flying!                                                                                                                                                   flying 

                                                                                                                                                                                         flying 

I had a dream i was flying!                                                                                                                                flying

                                                                                                                                                                    flying 

I had a dream i was flying!                                                                                                       flying 

                                                                                                                                      flying

I had a dream i was flying!                                                                        flying

I had a dream i was flying!                                          flying 

                                                       flying

….does that answer your question Sycamore Tree? 

“Oh yes, fig wasp. yes it does. What a beautiful gift it is to fly. I will keep protecting you, so you can see the sun and fly. You must. You must. You must.”

[click here to be directed to Juntos Philadelphia, a community led org working toward keeping Philadelphia a Sanctuary City #AbolishICE #AbolishPrisons]

[click here to connect with Philly Childcare Collective, a collective that provides free childcare for activists and organizers]

More About The Author

Ashley Davis is a black queer femme womxn (they/she) artist, poet, human. Born in California, currently based in Philly with her Grandmother and Great Grandmother. Ashley writes to center the inter generational black femme and build spaces for rest and inner children to play. Ashley has upcoming work being published in the anthology ‘A Garden Of Black Joy: Global Poetry From The Edges Of Liberation & Living'(2019), Apiary (2019), The Shade Journal (2019), and work currently published in WusGood. Ashley was part of 2017 Voices of Our Nation (VONA) cohort facilitated by Patricia Smith, was a member of the ‘House Slam’ slam team in 2016 where the team placed 3rd at the National Poetry Slam Competition (NPS) and where Ashley was a 2nd place finalist at the National Underground Poetry Slam Competition (NUPIC). Find Ashley on instagram @ashleydavis_art     twitter @ashleydavisart

by: ashley davis

I asked my great grandmother if she calls on her ancestors, the loved ones who have passed. She rolls her eyes like she usually does in response to questions that make no sense to her. Assuredly she says, “no, they worked enough when they were here, let them rest.” She says it so clear I swear what she means to say is “i’m tired.” 

My great grandmother won’t cook anymore. On the rare occasion she does, it’s usually something like cornbread. She makes sure to let everyone know there is extra left in the oven. Slathered with butter and sweet. Sometimes she will ask me three times in a day if I had some of that cornbread yet. “It was good, huh.” She will say with a laugh. 

My great grandmother sits in her chair by the microwave stand in front of the television with the long antenna, Judge Judy blaring in the background. However, instead of watching the tv, she watches her daughter-my grandmother-bend over the pot of cabbage and black eyed peas. The eyes on the back of my grandmothers head see’s her mother staring, all the eyes roll forward in exasperation. “If you’re not going to tell me the ways you used to cook, i don’t want to hear a thing about what you think of my food.” My great grandmother won’t tell anyone her recipes. She smirks to herself and lifts up her shoulders with an “I don’t know” and stays seated while my grandmother finishes cooking dinner.

I’ve heard stories of how my great grandmother used to THROW DOWN! I mean, every holiday, Sundays after church, for her neighbors when they were sick. The family talks about how she coulda been rich if she opened up a restaurant. She was that good. Now, Mr.Arthur (as she calls the arthritis knotting around her knuckles and knees) has slowed her down. “Now it’s your turn to cook for me, sheeiitt.” 

When she’s in the right mood, she will tell me about when she used to pick cotton and sell them to white men in the neighboring town. How she was cared for by her grandmother. How she took care of her dying brother, her dying mother, her dying husband. My grandmother and great aunty will tell me about the times they lived in the projects on Diamond street, how their mother (my great grandmother) would put grits on the stove before she went off to work all day, every day. How my grandmother was sick of grits. Since she was the baby, her big brother would go steal some food from the corner store, something more like dessert, a more suitable breakfast for a child with a sweet tooth.

As poet Nayyirah Waheed says “all the women in me are tired”. 

Now, I build altars for my ancestors to come and rest. I pray to sleep all day, I walk real slow and quiet, I put my feet up

and swing, swing, swing on my porch swing on a Monday afternoon. I study my sleepy cats, how they find the spot in the grass with equal amounts sun and shade. How they curl their body around themselves, stay there for hours without shame, only shifting to follow the movement of the sun around the porch. 

With so much chaos currently warping this world, so much necessary rage easily accessible, rest also becomes necessary. The Nap Ministry, an org run by black womxn, that “examines the liberating power of naps….and installs nap experiences” describes Rest is resistance. Rest is liberation. Rest is soul care. 

I open the big tins of tea piled on the wicker rack behind the bar at the PORCH. Savor the whiff of lavender, boil it in a mason jar and watch the honey slowly crawl inside the cup. This is how I will choose to worship my great grandmother, the greats before her, my grandmother now. In this state, I will think only of dancing, and more rest. I will offer my closed lids at the altar. I will quiet the shame the world around me will slander. We will all sleep. This will be my legacy. 

More About The Author

Ashley Davis is a black queer femme womxn (they/she) artist, poet, human. Born in California, currently based in Philly with her Grandmother and Great Grandmother. Ashley writes to center the inter generational black femme and build spaces for rest and inner children to play. Ashley has upcoming work being published in the anthology ‘A Garden Of Black Joy: Global Poetry From The Edges Of Liberation & Living'(2019), Apiary (2019), The Shade Journal (2019), and work currently published in WusGood. Ashley was part of 2017 Voices of Our Nation (VONA) cohort facilitated by Patricia Smith, was a member of the ‘House Slam’ slam team in 2016 where the team placed 3rd at the National Poetry Slam Competition (NPS) and where Ashley was a 2nd place finalist at the National Underground Poetry Slam Competition (NUPIC). Find Ashley on instagram @ashleydavis_art     twitter @ashleydavisart