For Zena

Dear queen of leopard print, queen of the lions layer, queen of all that repulses fragile, feeble minded men I want you to know that my heart sang the thunderous gospel of a liberated woman the night you passed. I want you to know that dangerous women don’t die. That the chorus of your existence has left a forever extending birthmark on rebellious women rivaling the sun to reflect your anthem. I want you to know that the sea bends to the cresents of your palm from now on, i want you to know the way your cat eyes, your body con, your unforgiving and unrelenting confidence built me into an indestructible vessel carrying on the rhythms of a woman unwilling to break her back for those threatened by her galore. Today i wear leopard print for you. Today I listen to Beyoncé and stomp loudly as i walk the streets as to announce your arrival into a higher divinity. Dangerous women don’t die, aunty. And you taught me this. My love for you will march endlessly as will the sorrow. And though the jungle lays still tonight, soon it will rumble and quake, once again, knowing that mother earth herself is finally home.