sweet freedom
i have yearned for it so long
its first taste on my tongue
would be bitter
like a pinch of raw turmeric
whose peppery tang
cleans my liver
but dances long
after the music has stopped
then
then the taste of self-determination
would turn syrupy sweet
sweet as the last piece
of momma’s homemade red velvet cake
with her barely yellow buttercream frosting
almost immediately
i would ache for a hot bath
just shy of scorching
with no bubbles to cover my nakedness
or even soap
to give the task purpose
just the heat of the bath water
and the simplicity of the mission
life has been
much too complicated already
after the uprising required
to usher in freedom
all i want is to rinse off the grime
the bloodstains and the tears
cause this here is messy work
grimy unappreciated hard work
u can’t expect
to fight for social justice
from the sidelines
while u embroider
a pretty picture
of apples dandelions and cornfields
u can’t just wait
for social transformation
to fall down like a ripe peach
u have to be willing
to let the filth of it all
cake up under yr fingernails
sometimes
u have to go unbathed
skip a meal or two
in order to feed the rebellion
u might need to accept
that a righteous act of violence
is yr most dependable lover
every road to freedom
has a toll to pay
peace is not that precious
to be considered untouchable
when revolution is at stake
it took everything i had within me
to hold it in my hands
and call it mine
so i would need a hot bath
to soak in
please
clear my mind
from the brutality
of emotional
spiritual
psychologial
and sometimes physical war
that liberty demands
i will lay back in that water
and imagine my knock-knees
dancing with the possibility
of a raised consciousness
and restored hope of my people
i will stay in that bath water
for hours
maybe even days
as the temperature
sluggishly transforms
from searing to tepid
so i can breathe deeply
into my pores
that fragrant aroma
of freedom
Sweet Freedom
(c) 2014 S. Renee Mitchell
Portland was one of 10 cities to join the 2014 Poetic/Hip Hop Action for political prisoner Sundiata Acoli. His writing prompt was “What could freedom smell, taste, sound, feel or look like? Below is my response: