This Woman

3 min readJun 11, 2020


She is grey and beautiful, that’s because beauty is reserved for those 50 and older. Yes we had our young days, yes we fought for our freedom and gave ourselves to community, and while building legacy, found the time to carve our names in hearts under barstools all over the world. But these days we are more prone to being still.

That’s why we built our dream home. We wanted something unique to us, a place with meadows and a lake, we wanted to live in a place that reflected the vastness and richness in our lives. We wanted a place to wake up to birds singing, chickens clucking, and nature interacting with itself. But we are also boogie. I remember the nights spent in our loft-style apartment, when we were in our 30's. We would play classics on vinyl, and sip wine in our night robes, indulging ourselves. We felt like black royalty. I was Beyoncé and she was Jay Z (Whether she agrees or not, I am Beyoncé, always.)

We still feel like royalty, and our money is older, so the coffee table in our modern cottage was crafted by Samuòngo herself; she is descendant of a tribe of craftspeople who were tasked with accommodating the ancient ones when they still roamed the earth. The wine too got older, and like our love — sweeter. Most of what we eat, we receive from the earth around us, but our grandchildren don’t always care for our — according to Bam Bam — pretentious, unnecessarily subsistent lifestyle. Yet even he can’t deny the sweetness of our fruit trees.

Tonight I am going to play Endless on the Vinyl and pour out wine for my sweet one. We met at a Frank Ocean concert in 2022, 42 years ago. That same night she told me we were meant to wither together, and watch our children play on flower patches in the spring. Back then, I thought she was just teasing me with a Frank Ocean song; but as I walk to the cellar to decide what wine, I think about how she could always wish things into existence. This woman is like a whirlwind, like a chariot of fire, like a garden beside the springs of life — and is in complete control of my mumu button.

I always wanted a farm, like my grandparents had, and she always wanted a horse like her grandparents had. We spend hours everyday taking care of our animals; the chickens, the turkeys, the two horses, and a few goats. We also have a dog, Kobe. She wants pigs for the farm, but I always bring up Charlotte’s Web.

On our last date we rode the horses on a carriage to the lake, a 15 minute ride. The sky was so warm with stars. It was just us, our horses Breonna and George, and Kobe. We read our favourite poems out loud, ate, drank, sat in the quiet, and swam. She tries to drown me, and is quickly reminded how good an actor I am when playing dead. It’s amusing at first, but then she gets a little sad, and I feel a little guilty, so I wrap her in a blanket and cuddle her gently in my arms, soothing her with kisses.

She always says I have the perfect words, so I told her to look at the stars in the sky. Then I told her to look to the ground, and then to the water. I asked her “Remember how you spoke this to existence?” She blushed. I told her to look at me. Remember when you told me that we would wither together?

One day we will wither

And our eye-lids, like curtains, will shield us from the sun

And our children will lead us to the ground that gave us life

And even then, sweet one, you will be in my arms

And the horses that brought us here will roam wild and free

And we will be an eternal star, on a warm night that lasts forever.

Sepase, she asks, do you know what will make me really happy? Eager to please, I say, what? Tell me, and it’s done. She goes, “Pigs for the farm.” Smh.

This woman. Helplessly, and hopelessly at your mercy.