Undone
I wrote this poem for a class on vocation, work, and faith. This is a poem about the sacred connection I have felt in the last few years, as I've centered Black women in my work. A connection that lives on my bookshelves and in the communities of Black women in my life.
To be “always done” in the second to last stanza is to have the appearance of being gathered: hair done, nails done, chores done, etc. Put together and tidy. Sometimes, even respectable.
"You don't have to look like what you've been through."
—a quaint but toxic perspective in light of basic reflections on human suffering
Raised in the church, in a Haitian household, and in the US, I have many practices of arriving done or done up. Each place and community demanded an appearance and performance of belonging—or at least a performance of the pet, not the threat.
It is a pattern of survival on one hand and on the other hand, a profession of dignity. As I have “straightened my spine” in the past, I hid all the signs of limbing along, always cautious of who is invited to see me stumble and slouch. I could not be caught slippin, even if it meant keeping the hardest parts of learning and living to myself.
These days I am holding tenderly the parts of myself that have yet to gather into the appearance of perfection…and I am honestly learning a lot from my loc journey. I have written on here before about Black hair and liberation. My 4c hair texture and locs desire to mend at the roots. The perfect diamond will go into hiding. Left alone long enough, the strands will find their way to each other.1 I am learning to stretch the length of time between retwists, in order to help my locs stay thick and healthy over time. This semi-freeform approach is revealing itself to be a spiritual practice of coming undone.
I see the ways we have done ourselves up, to straighten our hair and our spines in order to be taken seriously. But I ask, and wonder, always—where are we safe to come undone? Meaning, both in a state that is less than perfect or complete?
Landing Track
Send gentle prayers and thoughts our way as next Wednesday begins the first week of the Night Vision Cohort!—Which will be a space cultivated for embracing an undoneness for Black women and nonbinary people. I am excited to cofacilitate that space with Rev. Riana Shaw Robinson, with the partnership of Erna Kim Hackett of Liberated Together. If you’d to contribute to scholarships for our participants, select the “Night Vision” campaign on this giving page.
You can still buy AGL merch here. Perhaps a cozy hoodie to wear on the days you feel most comfortable coming undone?
Some questions for your own reflection time, or the comments below:
Where do you experience the safety of coming undone?
Where have you felt the demand to arrive in perfection, never revealing how hard it was to get [t]here?
Who in your life provides generous space to come undone? Where do you retreat to honor your unraveling?
Currently reading about mysticism, and I can’t help but see an analogy for mystical unions here.
This poem felt real close, Rose, as did the question of finding space to come undone.
Your poem touched in me the sense of belonging felt within the quiet expectations of perfection. The story of making others comfortable by containing the truth of humanness. That quote about not wearing what you have been through - so many thoughts sprung from this. The permission to boundary where needed, yet the opposite end of the spectrum that requires one to deny the ragged truth of trudging through our shadows. Thank you for the inquiries - Who generously gives me space to come fully undone? Generously is the potent word here for me - the truth of offering. Who gives the space from love, a nurturing gift of beingness, a conscious willingness to encourage the truth to reveal itself fully. Thank you for your words and your wisdom.