- Hello, Detroit, I'm Satori Shakoor, and I'm so excited to bring you a special series of episodes from "Detroit Performs Live".

We've put together some of the most incredible performances across genres, jazz, youth talent, acoustic sets, dance, multicultural showcases, and spoken word.

You won't wanna miss these unforgettable performances from some of the city's best.

It's a celebration of the amazing artists who make Detroit's creative scene so vibrant.

Tune in and experience the magic of "Detroit Performs Live".

- [Announcer] Funding for "Detroit Performs" is provided by The Fred A. and Barbara M. Erb Family Foundation, Gregory Haynes and Richard Soneklar, The Kresge Foundation, The Michigan Arts and Culture Council, The National Endowment for the Arts, and by contributions to your PBS station from viewers like you, thank you.

(upbeat cheerful music) - Hello, Detroit, I'm Satori Shakoor, coming to you from 234 Piquette Street, the future home of Detroit PBS.

In today's episode of "Detroit Performs Live", we're celebrating the powerful art of spoken word.

You'll hear Henri Franklin's "Views of color", Monica Sholar's dynamic voice, Joel Fluent Greene's Detroit medley and Ackeem Salmon's, "Our ancestor's memory".

Prepare to be moved by these powerful performances.

- Mm, ha, what's it like being a person of color in America?

Whew, hmm, see, where do I begin?

Really not too sure.

Let's start off with the pen.

No, the one you use on paper, not the one trapping our kin.

The one that writes lies about history to cover our eyes like a brim, and bury the truth in shadows like silhouettes on a scrim.

You know, I have a couple questions about this land that we're in, and really take the time to listen, then answer me at the end, like how Klansmen claim Christian, but killing Blacks is not a sin.

We supposed to love each other, right?

So how you lynch with a grin?

This is America, so when was the great again?

Now, would it be a different story if our shoes you walked in, like what if your son was killed for a hoodie he was wearing?

Or what if your daughter was shot in her own home because of a call from a Karen?

What if you were giving their eulogy about how your life has shattered?

And from the crowd someone yells, "Hey buddy, all lives matter!"

What if you were told you can't live here because it's actually written in the laws?

What if the pigment of your skin was used for just cause?

What if a whole different race of people sailed up into your neighborhood, said, "Look what we found y'all," and started taking all that they could.

But here's the real kicker, what if they never leave?

You do all you can to stop them, but your weapons are made from the trees.

They've got spears that make thunder, but from their hands that never leaves, there's a stinging in your chest, and you find it hard to breathe.

You can't breathe.

You can't breathe.

Tie a noose around your own neck, I wonder how hard you'd squeeze.

Put shackles on your son's arms, and tell 'em their shirt sleeves.

Take your wives, mothers and daughters, and have their way as they please.

Now, they have to live with the trauma and the belly with foreign seed as they watch your last breath fall from your chest where you bleed.

So what would you do?

Hmm, how would you react?

Could you walk around in Gucci if it fit you like that?

The hardship of this plight, I wouldn't wish on another, but someone made that wish, and it landed on people of color.

I can't even lie, right here, I wanna take a break because of all the pain we've endured to this venom called hate.

But I can't.

I hear you (chattering).

(Henri laughing) Yeah, no, that's funny, that's funny.

You know what that means.

Hey, but now that I have your attention, I need your help with some things.

I need your help to find the words that I seek.

So when I rhyme and take a pause, scream out the words that you think.

No, no, really, no scream it at me.

Yeah, no, this part is interactive.

Yep, it's okay.

Hold up, hold on my people.

Before we get geeked, we got things we need to correct.

You know that stuff we don't speak, the things we learn from older folk who didn't know that they teach with their actions, not their words, so our eyes heard all of their speech.

Like, okay, like how do we have all of this sidewalk, but we still walk in the street?

Take high blood pressure medication, but we won't change how we eat.

Hey, she ain't got no daddy.

What, dog, I bet she a freak.

Make eye contact with a brother, you better look grim, don't speak.

Man, who taught us this?

It's what we learned in the street.

Now, God forbid that you smile 'cause now you either gay or a geek.

Side note, don't you think either one of those people are weak.

I know some cats that wear a skirt, but they'll delete your front teeth.

And before you go to make fun of that smart kid who can't dance, don't forget they're the ones who design the cell phones you use for your TikTok fans.

Let's talk about some cycles that rotate like kebabs on a flame because maybe if we speak on them, some of our choices might change.

Like, how we keep having babies with folk we don't like?

The child looked just like him, so you pissed off on the sight of this angel that you brought here that night.

You just wanted to bust a mm (laughing).

Ooh, you nasty.

But you know what?

You right, you skinny dipped in that ocean.

Now, you got a little tyke, and you blame it on the Henny, 'cause that helped you sleep at night.

But the truth is, you made your choice that condoms, condoms, nah, nah, I'm all right.

Treat the baby mama so bad, now male love just don't feel right.

So what about this kid, who they grow up to be like?

The dad that's not there, or the mama they speak like, dress like, dance like?

No woman in the fam got a man, so who you think this child gonna think like?

I understand things happen, so I'm not saying that this is wrong or it's right, but the path of a child can change with both masculine and feminine insight.

Yeah, yes, yes, like every area of life, balance is key.

If non-biased wisdom is what you seek, then both sides you must see.

Okay, if a cop is afraid of your skin and not treating you right, is it really the best option to put up that physical fight?

Now, I know you really want to 'cause that junk just not right, and your mama ain't raised no hoe, so for sure it be night-night.

And you know this wouldn't happen to you if your epidermis had been white, but is it really worth your pride if your kids don't see you tonight or ever again, unless your name pops up on a hashtag RIP to my friend?

No, I hear you.

Yes, I hear you.

Bro-bro, you lying.

There are plenty of us who complied and we still ended up dying.

As sad as that is, I can't deny that it's true.

And I really don't know exactly what to say to help you get through the situation and get you back to your crew.

But 60 shots from four cops in their Glock 22, that's some real sad math when it's divided in you.

And it's a vicious double standard.

Yeah, I hate it too.

But to see our loved one's face again, that chump burger, yeah, we chew.

Racism is a real sick fight, so use your brain to get through because not all heavyweight bouts are guaranteed to round two.

I guess that's why some cops try to heal it with a shot like the flu.

Sad part is they got families just like you, but they'd rather take your life and see their wife.

So tell me, what should you do?

Others may think I'm lying, but you know that is true.

Now, with that in mind, protect you and your seed.

If that means this one time, smile and move slow, then so be it.

You can't scream at a graduation if you're not alive to see it.

And the wild part is these are thoughts they'll probably never have.

They'll bust a cop square in the mouth, take the squad car, and then laugh as they are taken into custody without a knot or a gash.

You kneel for that because you Black and they'll Kaepernick your face mask.

But until the laws change, our rule is to survive because... ♪ I I I I'm staying alive staying ♪ Damn, I guess that's a moment of silence for all of those who couldn't finish that saying.

And we wanna let you know that for your families, we are still praying.

Okay, listen, I have to say this right here, and some of y'all might get mad, but I can only speak from the experiences that I've had.

And it might be tough to see with social media eyes, so listen to me with your heart and tell me if they're lies.

Not all cops are bad.

Not all Black people grow up with no dad.

Not all White people are evil.

Not all Black people steal.

And for us to think that racism is not being taught, then that's just not being real.

Children mimic what they see, so let's show them how to heal, because if we don't and if we won't, the blood continues to spill.

This is America, and I'm gonna tell you when it's great, when kids from different races play together because they haven't learned hate.

When we can learn to illuminate our country as being more than just Black and White, because our native, Hispanic, middle Eastern and Asian family all deserve to be in this light, so does every nationality that lays their head here at night.

So do we really wanna fix the problem or do we just want to fight?

Think about whom you love the most in this world, for whom you give up your life.

Now, treat everyone around you with that exact same kind of love.

Now, that's what great again looks like.

So can we do that?

Can we all do that?

Will we do that?

Will you do that?

Now you can answer, I'm listening.

Hmm.

- It was January, 2011.

I met this guy who was tall, handsome, funny, just a gentle giant.

We go on our first date, and by the end of the night, we're talking about when we'll get married, not if (chuckling).

he was a single dad to a five-year-old son.

And a few amazing dates later, I finally get to meet him, and he's adorable.

He's got these big brown eyes that just reel my heart right in.

And I learn everything about him.

His favorite color is blue.

His life revolves around video games.

And I also learned his mother wasn't in his life.

So the more I spent time with him, the more I just wanna leave my bachelorette lifestyle in the rear view mirror and just immerse myself in his five-year-old world.

So I do exactly that.

The three of us spend all our time together.

And two years later in November, his dad and I get married.

And right away, we know we wanna expand our family because we're adorable, and we wanna have more adorable human beings.

But deep down, I was really scared to try because years before, in a previous relationship, I gave birth to my son, and right after, he died in my arms and doctors never figured out why.

And I was just so scared of that same thing happening again.

On the other hand, I thought about my husband, and our son, and this beautiful life we were building and it was worth it to face that fear.

So the least I could do was try.

So we did, we tried.

We tried for years.

I did fertility treatments, I changed my diet.

I did acupuncture even though I hate needles, 'cause they're of the devil.

I tried everything I could, but nothing worked.

So eventually, we kind of just gave up on the idea.

Years go by, then September, 2018, I am shocked to be standing in my bathroom, holding this positive pregnancy test.

And I just cannot believe it, and I'm so happy and overwhelmed.

And more than anything, I cannot wait to tell my son he is finally gonna be a big brother.

So every day, I'm just counting down the days till Christmas so I could surprise him.

Fast forward a few weeks, I'm in that same bathroom, and I am pouring blood.

At some point during the night, I had a miscarriage and I was devastated 'cause this is exactly what I did not want to happen.

This was my biggest fear, and it happened again.

And I had no idea how I was gonna get through it.

My husband and son were there to support me and do whatever I needed.

I didn't know what I needed, but I knew the three of us would get through it together.

Months go by, I'm reading Michelle Obama's book, "Becoming".

And in it, she talks about how she had a miscarriage.

Then I'm watching TV one day and a woman on there had a miscarriage.

Then it seemed everywhere I looked, people were coming out of the woodwork talking about these losses and saying how they had these stillbirth, and miscarriage, and all types of loss.

So I started to research and learn more about it, and I learned that as many as half of all pregnancies end in loss.

And more often than not, doctors don't even know why.

It's just something that happens.

Millions of women around the world were having this same experience, and millions more still would and didn't even know it.

And my heart broke for them, 'cause I remember the hell I went through after both my losses, and feeling like every day was gonna be just as awful as that first day.

And it took such a long time to learn that I had to do deep self care.

I had to tend to my mental health, my physical health, my emotional health, my spiritual health, and just reach for my healing at every different angle.

And I needed supportive people around me.

And eventually, things got better.

But I felt like I had to learn it the hard way.

There was no coach or guide or place to go that would walk you through it.

I wanted to be that voice of encouragement and wisdom to other people.

So I had a baby of a different kind.

I started my nonprofit, Remembering Cherubs.

We provide support, guidance, and education to everyone who's experienced pregnancy loss.

My nonprofit is two-and-a-half-years old now.

And in this community of people that we've brought together, we sift through the rubble of our pain.

We pick up those broken pieces and we rebuild our beautiful, happy lives together, thank you.

- I was here, so I remember when downtown was dark.

The people also.

The sidewalks were barren, The storefronts, they advertised wigs and gator shoes, and Dobbs hats, and pink ties.

The hangouts were hidden, and the eating was cheap.

The appreciation was deep for creatives like us when this grit was a way of life.

It wasn't a calling card, it wasn't a t-shirt, it wasn't a slogan, it wasn't another tattoo.

I was here.

I remember you can't tell me sh...

I was here.

I used to catch them cabs.

I used to walk up Grand River.

I used to hop that Dexter, or the Hamiltons just to show up in a ride with like minds who got there just like me.

Ha, I was here.

I did the art, we did the work.

We set this whole thing up.

We passed the torch to our cuz, our kids, our neighbors.

Not the visitors, not the rich, not the occupying, new occupants.

Blah, I was here.

So I remember when midtown was narrow and the fun was so different.

It was poor, it was inexpensive.

I was here before my elders were displaced, and the homeless were erased.

I remember something rugged, yet gentle, it made me who I am.

It made this Black man from Detroit progress possible when Coney Island was the only option after late night escapades.

Blah, I was here, so I remember the smell of sewers, the steam on my steps.

I'll never forget because I was present.

I was here, so I'll remember.

If I am to talk about the corridor I know, that narrow suffocating stroll where street walkers and neon clothes or threads, were pranced down cast with them really tricky goals, the darkness of it all still, 20 something years later.

The danger of parking on 'em side streets still lurking.

The late night quest to visit main state buildings with shiny new names that reflect this new village, this commune of consumers with expensive bicycles.

Pop, see, I just wanna be accepted, not as new, as authentics said the Black man with the jitney.

Before the Uber, before the Lyft, he was part of this economy.

Before that dichotomy this half called the nots, the other half called the gots.

And I won't forget the goats.

Nah, the characters, the dark rooms, the deep base, for sale signs slapped on the backside of a ghost that cannot be revived, only replaced.

I'm familiar with all the haunts and all the crazy wild stories that took place.

Oh, kinfolk, this corridor, I know.

Spin me around, blindfolded off any street off cast, and I swear to God, I'm gonna find my narrow butt way back home high.

Or maybe I'll find my way to the Bronx Bar.

And perhaps that's preferable for this drowning of a sorrow, thoughts of friends I used to know, when all of this shiny, it was raw.

It was real.

It was actually exciting.

See, I walked past that bar and I'd see the White and the Black faces, now older, still nameless, still way cooler than me.

Ha, a punk song from my homeboy Crazy Dan, for East Palmer and Woodward, right?

I regret that we never played chess on that old glass countertop.

Ha, and I miss our conversations about our city.

These rapid weird changes, the displacement of the seniors, the ordaining of that Caesar, and the quickening of fever, pitching ideas over wood oven pizza.

Us fools, we should have thought bigger.

When the land was cheaper, our collective attention skewed Eastern.

This was our sacred raw speck of dust on that palm of Michigan.

And on that speck, we were living microscopic simple dreams, simple sins.

But now, 20 something years later, on my 40 something birthday, I remember being 21.

I used to be one of 'em fresh kids, right?

And now, I have kids and I consume these bougie conveniences, expensive coffees, macaroons and all that, these good things I never thought that would come.

Hey, you could call it a progress, me, I'm gonna call that a sure thing, right wide open for the right ones with that paper green.

This is for my brother.

Jean jacket, a million buttons, the king's gonna cast, adorned is his crown.

And so to all the young misfits, promise to enjoy it.

Treat each single alley like it's sacred.

And please, for the love of God, pick up your frigging garbage.

Pop in those new popups, and hop on that gentry train.

But respect that bumpy road underneath that bike lane, Cass Corridor, the original name.

This last one is a personal favorite, and it's written in the spirit of one of my favorite poets, who was Paul Lawrence Dunbar, so here we go.

Of all the many dreams I hoard, tickets for flights I've yet to board where the soil is rich with words and joy.

The palms are weathered, but still support.

The women weathered yet still comfort.

Where leaves in fall, they fall, the chords and bees in spring don't sting, they sing, ha.

My lonely heart tethers to one escort.

My mane has roots in Dear Detroit, thank you.

- "Our ancestor's memory", written in Detroit, based in Jamaica.

The dead of cells, its mutants, a scar bigger than the eye can see.

Curdled into a ball, spliced without a taste of damp in its pain.

Black, blue, spotted, scarred.

No difference yet the same difference in the eyes of his dead brother.

Oh, scream at me, my black body.

What have you done to see me, to penetrate the years of longing with the blinded tools that held me against a fence with barbed wires?

Ancestors hold my arms, twist them, bend them.

Why should I feel?

As my dreams and memories fade, so does my hope in becoming a yellow elder.

Our saving grace in golden armor, why kiss me with a poison so slow?

Kill me fast.

Let me feel it.

Pierce me deep.

Twist your silver dagger, and cast me by the water to where I may see another color.

Brother, hold my hand not to let go.

Sew your skin onto mine as they hang to dry.

Soak your salt into my open wound.

Burn me ever so gently.

If I was to become a memory, how sweet would I taste?

- What an unforgettable showcase of spoken word.

These artists brought raw emotion, and deep insight to the stage.

Thank you for tuning in.

And be sure to stay with us for more amazing performances right here on "Detroit Performs Live" - [Announcer] Funding for "Detroit Performs" is provided by The Fred A. and Barbara M. Erb Family Foundation, Gregory Haynes and Richard Soneklar, The Kresge Foundation, The Michigan Arts and Culture Council, The National Endowment for the Arts, and by contributions to your PBS station from viewers like you, thank you.

(upbeat cheerful music) (upbeat cheerful music continues) (gentle music)