Granada (Kweli Journal)
Mama was dark liquor brown but only drank Bacardi Light. She wore natural three-inch long nails silk-wrapped and well-manicured. Whether in a business or bathing suit, matching heels were a favorite accessory, second only to her nails. Foam-roller curly hair bounced on her shoulders. Dainty gold earrings looped from her lobes. A stack of intricately etched gold bangles rounded her wrists. A gold link bracelet wrapped around her ankle. Depending on the weather and the occasion, a tailored blazer, butter soft leather trench or full-length beaver curtained her back. On weekday mornings, when she headed to the law firm where she worked as a legal secretary, a faux alligator skin purse dangled from her shoulder.
It didn’t matter if it was a weekday or weekend, professional event or house party, Mama stayed fly.
After work, Mama picked me up from Grandma Mabel’s Bushwick house. Even though we moved out of Grandma’s grand italianette earlier in 1984, Grandma Mabel still took care of me when Mama was at work. Finally in our new Fort Greene neighborhood, Mama pulled her purse’s thin strap back onto her shoulder and gripped my palm as we walked down Ashland Place. We swung hands while Mama sang to me, “I love you. I love you. Honey I, love you. I do. More than you ever know. It’s for sure…” Mama’s mezzo-soprano was butter smooth, while her alto smoked like brimstone. Sarah, Billie and Etta were among Mama’s favorites. Patti, Stephanie and Anita, too. When Mama pushed their songs from her mouth, as she often did, I’d look up at her with stretched cheeks.
Mama could sang.
