Calling Out

I write as Martha Reeves and the Vandellas sing “Dancin’ in the Streets”. I write to joyful summer music, as my past goes in and out my mind and body.

I played 60’s summer music, for in the 60’s I was allowed to a child.

Now Mary Wells sings “My Guy”, a song that kicks into my grief.

For. “when it comes to be happy”, my child cries as the trap slowly encloses her.

Her joy is stolen as men intrudes, making her a toy to manipulate.

Now Marvin Gaye is hearing “the Grapevine”.

The song of my lost teenage year, his voice echoes my pain without hope.

I am deafened to sound of connections to the grapevine of an outside world – as my world is penises filling my holes into silent screams.

I learn to act dead, only miming Marvin Gaye to myself as some kind of rescue.

As “Sugar Pie Honey” plays, I cannot allow that joy in my prostituted soul – only to find I am silently tapping to the tune, and secretly smiling.

Then Diana Ross crashes demanding attention and for me to know happiness – as “You Can’t Hurry Love”.

But then my heart crashes as it know my mama does not care if I am raped, if I get pregnant, how often I am torture.

My mama blocks me out of her existence, as I grow into the role of being the prostitute.

Now Stevie Wonder enters as “I was Made to Love Her”

Love is nothing but false hope, a betrayal of my child, a killing of my teenage soul

Better to choose death then love.

So comes “Under the Boardwalk”, I taste my imagined life living with my American relatives.

The relatives that loved me no matter my anger, saw my pain and loved me.

I imagined living in Denver and being safe. Secure in my grandmother’s city.

Now “Groovin’” attempts to calm my trauma, sending Motown vibes of joy.

I smile as pains eases

Oh, then a song I hold to hard as Sam Cooke sings “don’t much about history”.

A song that cut into my past hell making it unimportant compared to any future that I can.

Then the King of Soul enters “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay”.

Trauma can never wins as Otis sings. His voice is a gift that refuses to let my prostituted self be made into nothing.

Otis forces life back into me.

Now Marvin and Tammi Terrell force me to know joy.

“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” to destroy my sense of freedom and desire for justice.

As Aretha reminds me to “Respect” my survivor self. Respect that I choose life.