Author Archives: Danielle

In this piece of poem, I contemplate some of my mother’s last wishes and wrestle with how to best fulfill them. Continue reading →

It’s fascinating how many of our most precious memories with loved ones involve food in one form or another. In this poem, I reflect on the days when I used to sit on the kitchen floor and talk to my mother while she cooked dinner. I contrast that with my feeble attempt to cook dinner for myself as I learned how to become independent. Continue reading →

I wrote this poem two years after my mother died. Because I went straight back to school after she passed away, I did not give myself a chance to grieve and it took a long time before I was finally able to process the experience. Continue reading →

I wrote this poem after visiting a friend in Charleston, South Carolina during the summer of 2004. My friend was from an old Southern family and her parents were quite wealthy, owning eleven houses. Yet, they liked to point out that their money was from law and business. Their ancestors did not own slaves. When my friend took me downtown to go shopping, I was mesmerized by the quiet, self assured black women who were weaving sweet grass baskets, some of which sold for several hundred dollars. My friend explained that this was a tradition dating back to the antebellum era and even today, only black Gullah women know the secrets of how to make these baskets. My experience in Charleston showed me how much has changed since those times and how much progress still needs to be made. During my trip, I purchased one of the smaller baskets as a keepsake. I display it on my bureau at home. Continue reading →