Time

TIME

November 1st, 2020

Dear J.,

What a time it has been loving you. Lately, we have been stuck in pandemic time, while dreaming for the next portal to get us away. We have survived queer time, manic time, depressed time, lost time, confused time, and Black time. Well, we are always in Black time. Black time is simultaneously the way we wake up in the morning and smile at the melanin still blessing our skin, and also the alert in our eyes shifting side to side, neck whipping around and spine erect to ensure the police are not following us home from the protest. Black time was when we fell in love, overlapping with depressed time and manic time, and of course heavy on the queer time.

We were in Black time when we sat at that diner in Crown Heights with sweat dripping from our bodies from the night at C’mon Everybody. Our mouths were filled with pancakes and coffee and it was 5 AM. Depressed time ticked its hands through my body and I somehow still managed to smile at you. Black time is the DJ screaming “last song” and our Black skin still shining off the black painted walls. Black time is what envelopes us into Black liberation. It’s the clock when I perform “We Banish”. It’s the heat on the walls at A Ratchet Realm. It’s the morning sex. It’s crying, laughing, and getting angry at Lovecraft. It’s building our own traditions. It’s when I imagine us a year from now, living on our Black queer commune in the woods.

What does time look like there? Is it still Black? Well, of course. It must be the epitome of Black and queer time making love. I imagine my mornings much like they are now: meditation, yoga, journaling, some prayer. But there, I leap out the door to collect some lavender from the herb farm. I shake the rose and hawthorn berry tinctures and prepare some oatstraw to cool down in the evening. After my herbal morning, I find you for a kiss. You’ve just finished a small weeding job and now you're praying to the earth, thanking her for her bounty. You rise all dirty and sweaty and smelly and give me the kiss I’m impatiently waiting for. We let Tiger and Penny out, and then join Ñ. and D.and C. and whoever else out in the outdoor kitchen. I open up my homemade raspberry jam and you make the eggs. D. is whipping up some bacon and Ñ. is making the french toast while C. makes our morning lemon balm infusion. We sit family style and feast. You mention something about the chickens and everyone laughs. I’m raving about the next cohort coming up for Healing the Black Body and D. gets all Virgo rising about it. I know you must love my Virgo sun and her rising plotting together. Ha! I can see your eyes playfully rolling. I spend my next couple of hours both writing curriculum and making magic in the studio, my sanctuary. You spend the day planting new plant babies and putting the finishing touches on your sculpture - it’s something about trans euphoria and the joy you get from your Black trans body. You’ve been preparing for your exhibit and the community class series you’re facilitating after it launches. Lunch happens on our own but Z. and N. come over for dinner. You know how it gets when NAVOMI is reunited. Ahhh, this time. This Black queer time. I want to melt with you there. I want to race and walk and jump and crawl with you there. I want to wrap this time into our palms, say a prayer and build it with intention. We

deserve this time.

Queer time was us moving in together after 3 months of fucking. Us falling in love after 24 days of dates. It’s the many times we thought we were unpartnering just to fall deeper the next time. But we are constantly interrupted by depressed time. That time you tried to commit, then me, then you again. Depressed time is when even our shadow selves slump in their own path and let the sun shape them into whatever, because whatever. Our love seems to be plagued by both depressed and manic time, each missing each other. When will we ever find stability? Tensions rise when your time is depressed and my time is manic. But really, I think we can use that energy to ground each other better. When I see you get caught in depressed time, I want to suck you out of it and place you elsewhere. To witness depressed time running its hands on you and not quite allowing you to choose. We know that isn’t freedom! You are in queer depressed time and there are no portals here. You must sit with it. But why can’t it be gentle? Be smooth? Instead it’s like water, a forceful undercurrent pulling you in before you know it. And there is nothing I can do but let you ride the wave. And sometimes I’m there with you, when we happen to be sharing time. I’m there with you, half drowning, half praying to drown a little faster. Sharing time with you feels special unless it's manic time. We both know how shitty that can be.

In this coming pandemic time, I am still here loving you. Sharing it with you, with waves of Black time, raining queer time, and dashes of everything else. In this pandemic time, I take everything and nothing for granted, including you. I just want you to know - if this is all the time I have spent loving you, I am happy. But I do want more. I want more time as we keep reigniting the spark. I want more time to sit, be still, and feel all points of my body against yours. I want more time to learn how to cook and impress you with my baking. I want the time to finally read all my books in our library. I want the time and energy to match. I want the time to give you massages. I want the time to shout your name with joy and ecstasy and marvel at how little time we’ve lost. I want to feel enough time for sex. I want abundant time to make love. I want to witness you write your first book, after your dissertation. I want you to witness me grow Healing the Black Body. I want the time for us to continue to grow up, the time to watch each of ourselves raise us into the people we want to be.

Point is, I want time and I can’t help but feel like we are running out of it. Especially after Tuesday, during this pandemic time. The world is closing in and it’s freedom or bust!

But during today’s time, I commit to me and to you. I commit to my groundedness and my heart. I commit to opening and feeling. Feel, so that I know how to feel better, brighter, bolder. In today’s time I want to be held by you. In today’s time, we sing to our sunflowers and dance in this rain. In today’s time, we are present and together in this storm. We survive today’s time. We survive so that we can finally traverse into Freedom’s time. Freedom’s time is Black, is queer, is trans. It’s loud and promising and big. It’s in the air, and it's in the dirt. Freedom’s time is unapologetic. I want to dance with Freedom’s time, borrow Freedom’s time, waste Freedom’s time simply because there is no such thing as waste in Freedom land. Freedom time on our Black queer commune. What a time!

So time, give us more of you.

Love,

Nana