Life, death and memories reverberate through the things my parents purchased.

My mom died eight years ago and it hurts less than it used to but probably more than it should. I am frequently soothed because I live in the home I grew up in, and I am surrounded by memories and ghosts at every waking moment. They wink at me and I wink back. When I walk in my kitchen in the late fall and hear the crickets outside and see the fireflies flit around, I am instantly transported to a night spent playing with my Transformers on that…

The ZORA Interview

Kelly Rowland is celebrating her 40th birthday, a new baby, a new clothing line, and her new music release K, a soul-confirming, five-bop, melanin-popped dance-in-your-house-naked-during-Covid jaunt into fun and discernment.

She is poised to talk about this record when her littlest co-worker decided he had something to say. Newborn Noah — just about a month old — gurgles and coos. Rowland takes a moment to attend to him. She murmurs in a sing-songy, soft voice. Asks about his bottle. And in so doing she signals that work doesn’t trump motherhood, but can live side-by-side with it. …

It wasn’t until I was a grown woman that I fully realized the significance of my grandfather working alongside — and befriending — a guy named Richard Wright at the Chicago post office. My pops, a church elder, and Wright, a writer becoming, were both sorters at the old main post office — a cavernous multistory building overlooking the highway, downtown and not too far from the Sears Tower. Then, as it is now, working at the post office was a “good job.” A very good job. …

When I asked writers to submit hidden history for publication at the anti-racism blog Momentum, I wasn’t prepared for the sheer breadth and depth of what writers submitted. Casira Copes sent over this fantastic story about Gladys Bentley, who I absolutely need to learn more about. Bentley embraced herself and tried to be free at a time when it was rare to be free. Copes even writes of Bentley’s letter to Ebony magazine, addressing why and how she dressed.

What a long way we have come since then.

Copes, in part, writes:

A regular fixture at hot spots like the…

I recently got a Valentine’s Day press release from a movie company that asked me to write about the romantic comedies in the company’s roster. They offered a list of the “most popular” lovey-dovey films of the 1990s and 2000s. And while I enjoyed 50 First Dates, snorted in laughter during There’s Something About Mary, and my heart ached for Sleepless in Seattle, what I found missing from the lists provided were the Black films.

It got me to wondering how they determined “popular.”

Now, Hitch was on the list. And so was Crazy Rich Asians. Both excellent, exciting films…

The ZORA CoSign

The ZORA CoSign is both a CoSign and an introduction. We celebrate writers
#onhere who unapologetically tell the story, write the poem, paint the picture, and inspire the masses. They also expand and enhance our Medium community.

Michele Thomas is a multifaceted writer who swings between publishing personal blogs and beautiful poetry. She’s written at least 50 poems on Medium. This particular piece, “A Heart Blooms Once More,” struck me with its simplicity. Lots of people write long pieces #onhere, but I rather enjoyed the short, peacefulness of a wonderful poem.

Here is a portion of it:

Eyes like moonlight’s…

We all know the stats: Black folks are more susceptible to Covid-19 but currently have less access to the actual vaccines. The reasons for both of these things can be boiled down to systemic racism, so we don’t need to delve into that for the millionth time. What is curious to me though, is the idea of vaccine shaming Black and Brown folks who have the opportunity to get their own.

I mean, if the vaccine needs to be administered and there are extras and you are taking grandma to get her shot and you are the last folks of…

Emmett Till’s childhood home is remarkable in its regularity. It’s a two story building on Chicago’s South Side—really more like Chicago’s South East Side, not too far from Lake Michigan. It’s brick, like most Chi-Town homes, and it is situated in a neighborhood that back in the day was known for its community and verve. When Till was murdered after a White woman accused him of whistling at her, grabbing her, and putting his arms around her—when Bobo, as everyone called him back then, never came home—that whole neighborhood, and then the whole nation, grieved.