The First Harriet Tubman Gathering

Sweden, Maine

Keita Annie Whitten · 2019 - Reimagined 2026 · Bowdoin, Maine

We—

chocolate-embodied wombmen—

danced

and drummed

beneath a Scorpio Blue Moon,

around a fire

we built together,

heeding the instructions

of our Muse, Harriet,

who showed us how.

Before us—

a panoramic sweep

of the White Mountains,

peaks nestled in clouds

like waves

rolling toward

the far corners of the earth.

Our nervous systems

softened.

We exhaled.

It was our first gathering.

We created sacred space—

no apologies,

no explanations,

no need to tiptoe

around White fragility,

no need to navigate

the daily microaggressions

of racism’s shame.

Here,

we could simply be.

We gathered

to remember our strength.

We gathered

to witness—

each other’s beauty,

each other’s joy,

our talents,

our gifts,

our God-given right

to thrive.

We gathered

to shatter the stories

that accused us

of being unworthy,

unwanted,

alone.

Around the fire,

we prepared to release

what we called

dirty pain—

the beliefs,

the betrayals,

the old experiences

that kept us

from our highest becoming.

When it came time

to name what I would release,

my paper remained empty.

I could find nothing.

Then a voice within

scowled—

Who do you think

you are?

Better?

My body constricted.

I froze.

Frustration arrived.

Embarrassment followed.

Then Debbie Doubt

piped up—

Who are you

to lead such a group?

Inside,

I wrestled.

Outside,

I carried on.

Somewhere in the struggle,

I summoned Iyanla—

Gurl,

fake it till you make it!

Relieved

that no one noticed,

I returned

to the fire.

Later, at home,

beneath the skylight,

under a waning moon,

I sighed

and invited the little girl

to sit beside me.

Softly, I asked—

Little girl,

where do you come from?

Why are you

troubling me now?

She carried me back—

to memories of betrayal,

anger,

disappointment,

abandonment—

to family,

to friends,

to people

who said they loved me.

There she was—

my dirty pain,

living inside me

as a frightened little girl,

still afraid

to upset the apple cart.

Perhaps her smallness

had kept me safe.

Perhaps her sweetness

had helped me speak

what felt dangerous.

Perhaps being charming,

soft,

cute,

childlike,

had helped the girl in me receive

what the woman in me

could not ask for.

I leaned toward

my little girl

and took her hand.

It is time,

I whispered.

We can release

our dirty pain.

Together,

we exhaled.

Our bodies

chillaxed.

And once again,

I was back at the fire—

but this time,

we were together.

Brown-bodied,

drumming,

dancing

beneath a Scorpio Blue Moon,

releasing

what no longer served me,

making room

for the woman

we were both

becoming.