Tolonda Henderson
From
The 1986 Super Bowl was a contest between
the New England Patriots and the Chicago Bears.
I was born outside Chicago, and though my family
left before I was a month old, I claimed it fiercely.
I wore to school t-shirts my mother had stenciled
with tiny little bears. This was a brave choice given
that we lived in Maine at the time, but it’s hard
for New England to feel like home to anyone
who has been there less than three generations,
especially a black girl who is constantly asked
what country she is from. People assumed that
Tolonda was a tribal name, something to connect
me to my African heritage, but my parents
were inspired by a science fiction magazine
so my name is, literally, from outer space.
From: indicating the location at which a journey
began, as though where you’ve been is more stable
than where you are or where you’re going.
A place where life made sense. A cocoon
from which you emerged into adulthood.
Somewhere you are nostalgic for, a safe haven
to which you return to be in touch with your roots
as though there was never a burlap sack
around those roots as they moved from place to place.
Fifteen years after the Bears crushed the Patriots,
I moved back to Chicago only to discover
I’m not from there. There was a large body of water
to the east, but it was disorienting not to smell salt
in the air. Listening to sports roundups on the radio,
it frustrated me to realize that “the Sox”
were White and not Red. I was astounded
at how regularly I could walk into a room
with more than one black person to whom
I was not related.
I spent half my life convinced I was not from
my home town, but it bothers me when people
refer to speak of colonists who were not Pilgrims.
When people ask where I am from, I really wish
I was still eight years old and could get away with saying
outer space.
The 1986 Super Bowl was a contest between
the New England Patriots and the Chicago Bears.
I was born outside Chicago, and though my family
left before I was a month old, I claimed it fiercely.
I wore to school t-shirts my mother had stenciled
with tiny little bears. This was a brave choice given
that we lived in Maine at the time, but it’s hard
for New England to feel like home to anyone
who has been there less than three generations,
especially a black girl who is constantly asked
what country she is from. People assumed that
Tolonda was a tribal name, something to connect
me to my African heritage, but my parents
were inspired by a science fiction magazine
so my name is, literally, from outer space.
From: indicating the location at which a journey
began, as though where you’ve been is more stable
than where you are or where you’re going.
A place where life made sense. A cocoon
from which you emerged into adulthood.
Somewhere you are nostalgic for, a safe haven
to which you return to be in touch with your roots
as though there was never a burlap sack
around those roots as they moved from place to place.
Fifteen years after the Bears crushed the Patriots,
I moved back to Chicago only to discover
I’m not from there. There was a large body of water
to the east, but it was disorienting not to smell salt
in the air. Listening to sports roundups on the radio,
it frustrated me to realize that “the Sox”
were White and not Red. I was astounded
at how regularly I could walk into a room
with more than one black person to whom
I was not related.
I spent half my life convinced I was not from
my home town, but it bothers me when people
refer to speak of colonists who were not Pilgrims.
When people ask where I am from, I really wish
I was still eight years old and could get away with saying
outer space.
Tolonda Henderson is a poet, a librarian, and a Harry Potter Scholar. Since 2011, she has been writing and performing from the unique perspective of a queer African-American woman. In addition to her own backyard of Washington, DC, Tolonda has featured in both England and New England.
