Im in a constant state of feeling that feeling your body feels, before contact of a tragic accident. Everything gets quiet and all ya cells relax as they also tense, all at once to brace the contact, is now me. I struggle with facing the world and Im suffering with hundreds of reasons for this state of being, as a jewish boy five or six yrs old, with the dopest yarmulke I eva saw, waves to me on Kingston ave. He stared intently at the fabric on my bag, and profoundly took his time to stare at my Masaai shuka. He taped his siblings in awe and points to me to make them aware of my presence.

A beautiful older Dominican lady, who looks East African somehow, enchantedly brings my grandmother Betty, whom I hardly know, to my space, immediately! And she knows so. Her salt and pepper wrapped hair, small gold hoop earrings, argyle socks, and overall poise, made it evident she and her family and friends, all know how important she is.

She noticed the jewish children’s admiration for me, and complimented the interaction with prayer hands and a significant winked eye, that felt like her chewing gum more than her gold earrings. I was beginning to feel to eclipse my initial feelings. Im now feeling to board a plane to where real home is in Africa, just by sittting amongst this new granny, her friends and the yamaka.

Her 1 friend was the Im in my 70s, but my shoes and coat are 27 yr old today fashion. My stance, my fit is still in shape shape like a slay in the gym, and stay in the spa and no old lady hair dressers. But the third lady, the second friend, was the grandest, in her Burberry printed shall, gold hair in a bun, with some fire Oliver Peoples frames. Her shall matched her bag, and her frames matched her bangles. But somehow she was still not loud, just quiet and neat, with the cutest apple pie face I literally eva saw.

But Granny was the 1. Even to them and you could tell by how they only stopped talking any time she began to. And Im now feeling the mood of flutes, strings, and piano in Italy, but with the percussive bottom beat of Ethiopia, so Im feeling home, as Mama Burberry asked where did I get my bag. Granny sat quiet and firm, removed her hat now and began to look even more East African. She silently continued to salute me by saying nothing but gesturing everything.

I began to think, ……would my mothers motha cross her hands like this? Would she wear a grey tam over her salt and pepper wrap as this? would she still put on gold hooped earrings and lipstick? She had a Marvin Gaye soul, in how she gazed at it all, but was clearly all the way Dyckman, uptown Dominican lady, who seen it in more than the movies. Her calm felt as Holy as the Quran, as Id imagine my mother’s motha to be. A eye who constantly knew it was watching God. Shout out to Mama Zora Neal.

I decided to leave the block now and I placed my hands on 2 of there shoulders and my other hands in hers, as she used her now only free hand as a comb to fix her strands, and I said thank you. She jus said in a plane jane manner, Ok Happy New Year. Yes mama, I replied, Happy New Yr and she responded with, yessir and many new blessings to you, be the best you and its ok.

O.Bey