I have moved Southern mansions,
but you have moved mountains.
I have seen the heart of the great white hunter,
from the inside out, again and again.
While you pumped water by the ocean.

When I speak of poetry
often, I am shallow and pine
for authenticity. The kind of love
only a black woman deserves.
From under the breast
From fecund preserves.

Beah, you are the night
Beah, you are the womb
Beah, you were right
To be always you.

When I first read you
I knew right then
a rook from the queen
the sword from a pen.

Brave, broad, Broadway
Slave, Home, Democracy
Coal, pressed, diamond
One Strong Woman.

You were never an eight
lined maid in my movie.
You are the closest
thing to a mother I will ever
find, the purest colored
voice I would dare rewind.

Beah, you are the night
Beah, you are the womb
Beah, you are the fight
For what we need
to see through.