Pearl Cleage

As an African American woman, I have lived my life at the intersection of race and gender and have found that space to be a place of mystery and magic that I inhabit joyfully and with profound gratitude. My work in these strange, technology filled days has become less about specific agendas and discrete genres and more about the search for a way to unapologetically call the Spirits in before they abandon us completely to the mercy of our own probably mobile devices. I find myself craving rituals for cleansing and compassion. I find my dreams full of the sea and the sky and sex and kindness unbound and I wake defiantly hopeful in a resigned, terrified kind of way. Sister Alice Walker says now is the time for furious dancing, to which I will only add under the moonlight since climate change makes it unwise to do much furious dancing under the rapidly rising heat of the noonday sun, mad dogs and Englishmen notwithstanding. Besides the moon is always the best light for mystery and magic; for casting spells and throwing salt over the appropriate shoulder; for whispering tales of home and singing those songs that hold the promise of a future. It is not too late. Shall we call the Spirits in?