Dear Sonia
The Scenic Route to You
Flying is Easy: The Magic of 70s Music
Dear Sonia,
Today the page seems much further away from my pen than it normally is. I’ve written this piece twice now in an attempt to mark what I’m feeling in an embodied sense. The first draft made it seem as though I had moved on from what I am currently sitting with. Some things stick to your bones & require more stretching, more water, more tea, more bone-shaking laughter to unglue itself from your makeup. Some things are still stuck & I don’t want to pretend otherwise.
It’s hard coming to the page this week. Things have been hard before, and deciphering between what stays in my personal archives and what gets translated to the screen is tricky. Unlike some pieces I’ve written, I don’t have a set thing to explore in this piece. I’m giving myself permission to wonder & wander on the page to see where the dust tracks on the road guide me.
I’m nestled between plotting & playing. Lately, the relationship has been blurring. I plot dreams of the future in sketchbooks lined with colorful maps only I can decode. The thick lemon pound cake batter molds to the halo pan my great-great-grandmother used to bake cakes dating back to the 1800s. The pan, now nestled in my grandmother's kitchen, still time between four generations. I’ve been gathering & curating a digital home to generate soft sensations to frolic through. Perhaps what all of this is pointing to is that I am in the process of putting meat on my soul.
Sometimes, I don’t want to offer the meat of my soul up to the butcher shop of spectacle. In this time of my life, 70s music has been a soundtrack & Donny Hathaway tops my personal charts. The artists of the 70s musicality is what makes this musical decade stand out. The songs of the 70s include vivid imagery documenting the world they lived in while conjuring new worlds through words. Their imagery makes these new worlds tangible & accessible.
"What does it really mean to walk upright as a human being? It hurts." — Sonia Sanchez’s 90th Birthday Celebration Speech, 3:02:25-3:05:33
This is true of the song that has been on repeat lately entitled “Flying Easy” by Donny Hathaway. When I close my eyes I feel myself drifting & lapped with warmth from the evening sun. Donny’s lyrics explore how we would embody & move through the world if “we don’t have a thing to lose.” If the only thing to gain is freedom, then have I really lost what I claimed to have passed me by? When my grandmother released the cake from the pan she told me her grandmother had given it to her mom. I watched as the golden cake glided out smoothly onto the plate. Sweetness has always been a part of my family’s life & I know it can be an intimate part of mine. Sweetness is mine to expansively make for myself & give as I choose.
To walk upright as a human being hurts. The sweetness of life is only drawn out by the sugar-granulated tounges of loved ones spending time sharing stories with you. The sweetness simmers as our conversations reduce into a simple syrup to share with others. Now I realize, my wondering & wandering on the page has brought me to you…Sonia. Your words in poetry & speech (is there really a difference?) have been dispersed throughout this unruly piece. I’ll go back & correct the working title I gave this piece that I now know is a letter to you.
Dear Sonia, I’m thinking of when you recalled the sweetness you had in your life with dear friends you used to be able to call up (3:09:03-3:09:52). You chose the word used because, in the last four years, the people you used to call up to share stories with have passed away. These losses have left you wondering who to call now. While you never mentioned any names I wonder if one of the names on your spirit was dear Toni.
You miss the folks you used to swap tales with. It is clear from your speech that this love was a podium-shaking one. This love rattled bones & shook something free in each participant’s body. You are still earthside with us at 90 & I can’t imagine losing a love that shook freedom into you. What an honor to love in that way & know at 3:30 a.m. you can call them up to tell them a story. What an honor to know that once they are no longer earthside you can still honor them with stories. You always had yourself & within you resides folks who have passed on as well.
Sonia, this work of putting meat on my soul & continuing to walk upright as a human being is laborious. Despite what others see looking in, the amount of intention, care, & knowing of self I have to continuously affirm is indeed work. Tending anything with care still requires effort. I tell my truth, trust that I always have myself as you have always had you, & know that I come from a rich Black tradition. The first time I ever engaged with your work Sonia was when I heard you on wax. Poetry must be read out loud.
Who will I call on as night lurches toward the day? The days are getting shorter & the sun sleeps long before I do. When I reach out through the darkness the silence is pitch black. My stories run off the page in blue-black ink rivers racing toward a dream I feel in fleeting moments. Listening to your voice read your poems is not the same as calling up a friend in the night but all voices ricochet through midnight waves just the same.
Sonia, I know your life journey of walking upright as a human being came with sacrifices. There were some sacrifices that you willingly took on & others you could have never predicted. Nevertheless, you never strayed from the course (3:11:01-3:11:49). Even now as some of your sacrifices are made more aware to us, people still attempt to rush your thoughts/work/words off the main stage (3:03:45-3:04:20). Even in the Historical Center for Research & Black Culture that started your journey in Black Arts. Even as they tried to usher you off stage the folks who gathered to hear your poetic speech affirmed you by saying take your time. Take your time.
You knew, that the experiences you have as a Black Woman in the United States were not inherently related to who you were as a person. Thus, the presumed next step of internalization & self-blame seemed to have skipped you. The mighty woman with razor blades in her mouth, born of Alabama & adopted by Philly—you knew how to slice with words & sweetly lick wounds to soothe with love poems all in the same breath.
If you are the woman with razor blades between her teeth then I am the woman holding the pen with brass knuckles on. Just as you have let the word peace slip between the razor blades in your teeth, I am learning to walk upright with a willow bark spine. I am learning how to let the winds of life bend me toward the path I was always meant to walk knowing there is no other option.
To walk upright requires a certain sense of stubbornness, self-trust, & faith that the dream can be a constant source of sweetness in one’s life. I’m plotting my unruly life in the shadows through play & rest to chart my flight path. My flight path is formed by taking small steps until my feet are kissed by air leaving me s o a r i n g. This is not a dream but something I can clearly imagine. Since I imagined it, I know it will soon be.
I hope I’ll get to sit on the porch with you soon & we can talk about what we want Earth to look like. In whatever timeline both of us can meet, gather, & swap tales.
with an upright spine,
Kay Brown
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