SDLC Reflection Mini-Podcast
During SDLC, I attended the Black/African American affinity group. Being in that space, I not only recognized the importance of unity within our schools as students of color, but the importance of celebrating the black community and ourselves as individuals. In connection to celebration, there is representation, which gives the black community something to look up to and something to celebrate. Below is a poem I wrote where I wanted to emphasize what representation feels like when you see it and to emphasize the importance of it.
When You Discover A Little Brown Baby In Art
By Naila Strong
After "Our Lady of Regla" by Harmonia Rosales
Little brown baby,
Do you know you are brown?
Your skin a hue,
Not quite the sunrise
But the warmth it embodies
When the sky releases the sun
A little brown baby,
Among a sea of portraits
Of little white babies,
When you came to the surface
Of those restless waters
You remained above them
Struggling to not be pulled
back down under
Little brown baby,
Where were you?
You could not have been,
Tucked away into bushes,
Undesired,
And you could not have been
Hiding,
You must have been hidden
One little brown baby,
There you are, kept in hands
Just like yours,
These are hands that I recognize,
The same that held me
Little brown baby,
We are not identical
Our minds are different
Our hearts will beat
To the rhythm of
different melodies
And our mouths
May salivate at the sight
Of different foods
Little brown baby,
When I look at you
I see me
A brown baby
Surrounded by
A halo of hope
And little brown baby,
Do you know you are brown?
And if you do, do you know
That it matters?
"Our Lady of Regla" by Harmonia Rosales
Reading of Little Brown Baby
AISNE Reflection Podcast
In 2019, I led a workshop, called Black Girl Magic, with Megan Miantsoko. One thing I noticed when we began to discuss the difficulties of attending predominantly white institutions was our hair, particularly always have to explain it. Yet, we also discussed what we loved about our hair and experiences we've had getting our hair done. Below is a poem I wrote that I feel exemplifies a portion of that conversation.
An Open Salon Chair On Sunday Morning
Naila Strong
A village gathers the strands that stray
Prepared to be strangled down with care
To straighten the crown she calls cliché.
Blistered fingertips move, as if ballet
With a pull, a twist, a turn of hair
A village gathers the strands that stray.
Eyes chase for vanity in what it may
In mirrors that call with compelling glare
To straighten the crown she calls cliché.
Loud conversation fills the room with wordplay
As women fill the once empty salon chairs
A village gathers the strands that stray.
A sore neck and weary eyes hide in the face of display
Firm on the throat of beauty, pain will not spare
To straighten the crown she calls cliché.
Open the door to stained streets that are her runway
She will flounce around and flaunt to share
A village gathers the strands that stray
To straighten the crown she calls cliché.
Reading of An Open Salon Chair On Sunday Morning
