Joyce Angela Jellison, 39, South West Philadelphia
Where Have I Been? Where Are We Going?
The Arctic Passage A Womanifesto in three Parts by Joyce Angela Jellison (age 39 Born and raised in South West Philly)
I am in the belly of a lie.
My truth is giving it heartburn in fact, my truth is held beneath its tongue and I am uncharatiscally silent. All of this is too much for me and the baby that rests beneath my heart moves restlessly; perhaps unsettled by words unspoken that have disturbed her sleep. Where is her mothers voice the steady hum lulling her to sleep in the warm amniotic bath cradling her? I have momentarily lost my voice sitting in the welfare office with my husband.
I sit eight months pregnant across from a woman white and pasty reminding me of soymilk. This woman does not look at me as she asks questions questions that have sent me spiraling into the belly of the lie that will not allow my truth.
Do you know who the father of your child is? she asks and her eyes the pen never detach from the paper.
I am sitting next to my husband. He is white and I am black. Can she not connect us? Is my blackness eclipsing his whiteness? I cant answer this question it is all too much. All of this for food stamps? My daughter pushes a tiny foot against the wall that is my flesh. Is this her first step? I am certain it is mine without a word, I stand wobbly, unsure if my anger will force an early birth. I force the lie to spit me up and out I tumble. I leave my husband sitting in the womans office eyes still trained on a paper outlining how to debone my dignity separate my body from its soul for hell money meant to be exchanged for food.
We will be fine, I tell my little one and she settles back into sleep comforted now that her mother has found her voice.
(2004) The Middle Passage
It is called repurposing. I am recycling our lives in order to survive.
We are on the move again. Another job loss, another apartment we cant afford. I pack our things into a red Ford Escort and drive across North Carolina to Virginia. My manuscript is in the trunk along with my daughters toys her clothes. I have not made a car payment in months. I am trying to outdistance debt with hope words, once again will sustain us.
I arrive at my brothers with 50.00 and a box of pizza crusts left over from dinner. My daughter sleeps soundly body curled around my despair. Does she dream of neatness of a life not so messy? I certainly do. I dream of chicken dinners (which is odd because I am a vegetarian) I dream of stability and the inability to have my heart broken.
