This is not a poem about Nikki Giovanni
This is a poem about a spicy spirit so bodacious,
it bites like fresh red hot pepper mixed in a signature sauce
Tongues become numb that is the cost
The taste is clearly bold
So rare it reminds you of big red diamonds or pure black gold
The spirit can be seen in the twinkle of Nikki’s eyes
It comes from her seasoned soul, but
this is not a poem about Nikki Giovanni
This is about a spirit that is ancient and old
It stared fear in the face and was Queen Nandi’s secret mold
Queen Hatshetsput’s glue and Queen Nefertiti’s piquant plan
This spirit is what makes grown men fear a scorned woman
When asked the beholder of such a savored spirit
How do you say it so raw
and make the complex taste like oysters on the half shell…
juicy yet pleasantly plain?
She said, “It is the truth.”
The truth is a spirit that should awaken the senses and never be tamed
You either embrace it or you live in a bland shame
This is not a poem about Nikki Giovanni
But remember her name and the bold taste that brought her fame
She said, “They want us to stand for America,
until the America on record is black”
“They don’t understand me? Hell, I don’t understand that!”
You can still find her speaking her truth as a matter of fact
She loves the bitter
She loves the sweet
She loves the heat
of her own spice rack