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Nzingha here. Wishing you well as we prepare for the winter solstice, for many holy days, for gathering, renewal and revisioning. It has been a year. 

I am grateful to be well, to be growing, reflecting, wondering, to be in love, to be humble, to be at ease. I am grateful for the unfolding journey. I am especially grateful for the opportunity to learn, to be forgiving of myself and others.

Thank you to all who came out to the Children's Art Carnival this past weekend for their annual holiday art fair. What a joy to be in such a rich, welcoming community institution. Similarly, a belated thank you to all who came out to our marketplace at the New Federal Theater's THE WASH this past summer. 

…in two weeks for the Full Wolf Moon on Saturday, January 3rd, in Harlem. Love up on your hands or feet dipped & soaked in warm peppermint tea. Mingle & make community as we dive into body and health–centered books, drink tea, share salads and soup, and prepare ourselves for the new year.

Please use this form to RSVP by December 28th. I’ll follow up with a calendar invite. We’ll also be packing—wolf packing—poetry into journals. We’ll sift through words of black & femme writers especially speaking to union, self-determination, one-ness, singularities, and so on.

…and poet & visual artist Gia Shakur will also have prints available. Here’s the link to RSVP to Kwanzaa, and here’s the link to our shop if you’d like to pick up items for yourself or for friends and family. *we've added a new gentle oil for the babybears in your life*

Please use this link to join us: tinyurl.com/solaryear. I've shared a poem as well below. 

Soon, 
Nzingha

____________________________

"One" by Nzingha Hazelton

Losing sight of the

Sun severely cools my feet.
                         

In turn, this body
      caves in, folding itself,

settled on redress, to sleep.

A fully purposed bundle, like

Navajo infants in baby mamas’

arms, wrapped tight.

Even, just one lonely sock will do.

Or, shelter, unasked,

freely given shelter,

beneath the soles of your feet.

Bit by bit, and then,

all at once, faint
      and forgotten is the pain
      of absent light. Easy

we be to the odd in

your good, easy we bow
      to your relentless warmth,
      cause red well, my feet

rest steady on earth

and walk again.

Distantly bearing gifts upon us…

I want and can’t be close.