Let Her Flo EP. 1 The Awakening

*"At thirty-nine and holding,

they expect me to count backwards—

hide my curves behind apologies,

tuck my dreams in practical pockets,

speak in whispers instead of war cries.

But something's shifting in Brooklyn nights,

between motherhood and memories,

between art that won't stay quiet

and truth that won't stay small.

My daughter speaks in colors,

while my marriage speaks in silence,

and through screens and dreams

a voice I ain't met yet

somehow knows my soul's language.

Tell me—

what's the cost of blooming late?

what's the price of growing loud?

what happens when a woman

finally stops asking permission

to take up all her space?"*

—SoulSpeak_Flora (Posted at 2:17 AM)

Like count: 257 Comments: 45

Poetry Collective Chat:

@VerseLyfe: THE WAY YOU JUST SPOKE TO MY SOUL

@WordsInColor: "truth that won't stay small" - FELT THAT

@SoulfulScribe: Who got you writing fire like this sis?

BrooklynSage: Your metaphors move like music.

Each line a different frequency of becoming.

The way you weave motherhood with revolution?

That's that ancestral wisdom talking.

Night Rhythms

The Brooklyn night pressed against Flora's window as she read BrooklynSage's comment again. Something about the way he saw straight through her metaphors to their beating heart made her pause. Made her wonder.

Her makeshift home office corner glowed with the light of two screens: her digital art program open on the iPad, poetry collective chat flowing on her laptop. From the next room, Selah's peaceful breathing carried through the baby monitor, her iPad still clutched in her hands, glowing softly with the day's creations.

"Mama?"

Flora turned to find Cassie on FaceTime from Howard. "Baby girl, you should be sleeping."

"Says the woman posting poetry at 2 AM." Her eldest's smile was knowing. "That piece though... you different lately. Like you finally letting yourself be seen."

Before Flora could respond, a private message notification popped up:

BrooklynSage: Hope it's okay to reach out directly.

That line about 'truth that won't stay small' -

Something about your voice feels familiar.

Like a song I been waiting to hear.

Flora's heart skipped as she clicked his profile. Joseph Carter. Those light brown eyes beneath the locs caught her off guard, along with the quiet intelligence in his smile.

"Oop, who got you blushing?" Cassie leaned closer to her screen.

"Nobody. Just... someone from the collective appreciating the art."

"Mhmm. Sure." Cassie's grin widened. "That's why you touching your twists like you do when you nervous."

Flora dropped her hand from her hair, caught. Her phone lit up with another message:

"Just be careful with your heart, mama," Cassie said softly. "I see you glowing different, but..."

Another message appeared:

BrooklynSage: Been studying your digital art portfolio. The way you layer motherhood, culture, and revolution? That's more than talent. That's testimony.

"I ain't doing anything," Flora assured her daughter, though her pulse said different. "Just connecting with other artists."

"Right." Cassie's expression turned serious. "Like you ain't been connecting with daddy either? I see how y'all move around each other when I'm home. Like careful strangers."

Truth had a way of hitting different when it came from your own child. Flora glanced at the bedroom door, where James's side of the bed had been cold more nights than not lately. His hospital shifts getting longer, the silence between them growing heavier.

BrooklynSage: The collective's featuring artists next week. They asked me to host. Your work needs to be seen, needs to be heard. What you say, Queen?

His deep voice from their group sessions played in her memory - scholarly but street, like Baldwin met Brooklyn. The way he broke down art and culture made her mind dance.

"Mama," Cassie interrupted her thoughts. "You deserve to shine. Just... shine careful, yeah?"

"Baby girl, when did you get so wise?"

"Must be them Howard waters," Cassie grinned. "For real though, I gotta go. Early class. Love you."

"Love you more."

As the FaceTime ended, Selah appeared in the doorway, iPad glowing. She held it up, showing her latest creation: her mother surrounded by light, while words and art flowed from her crown like stars.

Another message lit up Flora's screen:

BrooklynSage: Sorry if I'm overstepping. Just rare to find a voice that makes art feel like awakening. Like Brooklyn herself learning to speak new languages.

"Let me see what you drew, baby," Flora held out her hand for Selah's iPad. Her daughter's art always saw truth before anyone else did.

As she studied the drawing, her phone lit up:

BrooklynSage: The feature's at the Brooklyn Museum. They're highlighting digital artists who capture the borough's soul.Your pieces about motherhood and transformation? That's exactly what they looking for.

A soft knock at the door. James, home early from his shift.

"You still up?" He lingered in the doorway, still in his scrubs. "Saw your latest piece. The one about growing loud."

"Yeah, I—" Flora started, but her phone buzzed again.

BrooklynSage: No pressure. But some voices need to be heard. Some art needs to be witnessed. Like yours.

"That's the poet everyone's talking about?" James asked quietly. "The one who been featuring your work?"

"Just professional," Flora said, but even she heard the lie in her voice.

"The way you light up though..." James's tone held something between resignation and recognition. "That ain't just professional."

Selah tugged at her mother's sleeve, pointing to her drawing. She'd added something new: her parents, standing slightly apart, while a new light approached from the distance.

"Talk about what?" Flora minimized her chat with Joseph, but his last message still glowed in her mind.

"About how you coming alive again. Through your art, your poetry..." James settled into their reading chair. "About how I been watching it happen from a distance, like I ain't got the right to be part of it anymore."

"James—"

"Let me finish. Remember when we first met? At that poetry spot in Fort Greene? You was on stage, spitting fire about Black motherhood and revolution. Had the whole room holding their breath."

Flora remembered. Remembered how James had waited afterward, just to tell her how her words made him feel seen as a Black man in medicine.

"What happened to us?" he asked softly.

"Life. Routine. Me making myself smaller thinking that's what good wives do." She touched one of her twists. "Until I couldn't anymore."

Her phone lit up again. They both looked at it.

"He see you," James said. Not angry, just honest. "The real you. The one I used to see before I got scared of being outshined."

"Truth is," James continued, "watching you bloom lately... it's beautiful. And terrifying. Because I know what it means for us."

The night pressed quiet against their brownstone windows. Somewhere down the block, music played softly - the kind they used to dance to in their kitchen before life got heavy.

"Eight years," Flora said softly. "That's not nothing."

"Nah, it's everything. You gave me Selah. Showed me what real motherhood looks like. Loved me even when I forgot how to love your light."

Her phone lit up once more:

BrooklynSage: The museum wants five pieces. About transformation. About becoming. About women choosing themselves. You already living that story. Time to tell it?

James watched her face change as she read. "You know what's wild? That's how you used to look when you read my messages. Back when we were new."

"I'm not trying to—"

"I know. That's what makes it real." He leaned forward. "You ain't looking for this. It's finding you. While me and you been drifting apart so quiet we almost didn't notice."

Selah appeared in the doorway again, new drawing complete. This time she'd drawn her parents with gentle light between them - not harsh like separation, but soft like acceptance.

Life keeps moving," James said after a long moment. "You should submit to that feature."

"Even with everything changing between us?"

"Especially because of that." He stood from the reading chair. "Maybe it's time we both admitted what's happening. Been happening for a while now."

Her phone buzzed:

BrooklynSage: Take your time with the decision. But know this - your art already speaking truths. Question is, you ready to let Brooklyn hear them?

Flora glanced at Selah's drawing again. "We got to think about her. About how this affects her."

"Look at what she drew though," James pointed to the soft light between their figures. "She already knows. Probably knew before we did that some endings don't have to break everything."

"You always could read her art better than anyone else."

"And you always knew how to translate her silence into strength." He moved toward the door. "That's why this... us... it was beautiful while it was right. And why it's beautiful enough to let go when it ain't anymore."

Her phone lit up with another message:

BrooklynSage: Museum needs an answer by morning. But I already know what you gonna say. Queens don't hide their light once they remember how to shine.

"I think we both knew this conversation was coming," Flora said softly. "Just been avoiding it."

"Had to wait until it felt right," James nodded. "Until it felt more like letting go than giving up."

Selah came fully into the room, settled between them like a bridge. Her iPad showed a new addition to her drawing - her father bathed in healing light, her mother crowned with creative fire, and herself connecting them with golden threads of love.

"See that?" James smiled. "She ain't drawing sadness. She drawing transformation."

Flora's phone lit up one final time:

BrooklynSage: One last thing - I'm hosting a live discussion tomorrow night. About art that breaks chains. About voices finding their power. About Queens claiming their crowns. You already got a seat at the table. Just got to decide if you ready to sit in it.

Flora looked at James, at Selah, at her reflection in the dark window - a woman on the edge of becoming.

"Some decisions," she said finally, "change everything that comes after."

"Yeah," James agreed, moving toward the door. "Like this one. Like your art. Like finally being brave enough to let go with love."

He paused at the threshold. "You should do the feature, Flo. Should do the live discussion too." A small smile touched his lips. "Time for Brooklyn to meet the real you."

Just then, Flora's laptop chimed with a notification that would change everything...

NEXT EPISODE: "The Feature" - Flora steps into her power...Joseph discovers the woman behind the art... Brooklyn learns what happens when Queens remember who they are...