As sure as nine follows eight, and ten follows nine, I am five, the midriff of unity, the caretaker of humanity, the soil in which the seed of life is given, the night that ever so eases the mortal mind, the muscle which extends the mental spine.  I am five.  Before me there is no balance, after me there is a memory of equality.  Without me, life is a dream yet to become mere. 

I am five the mornings rise, the vivid vision of power, the thought of thinking why one wandered wondering in unmeasureable measures.  I am five the backbone of America’s bending culture; the soul of spiritless tabernacles; the cries of dried wells; the protector of my protector, for I am the king of my dynasty. 

I am five, one step from six, one movement from tilting the harmonized silence…which is ever so loud. 

I am five, the metronome of lifeless lives, living life’s unlimited lies of limitations; the conductor of companionship; the very condensation of an empty glass once filled with ambitious fluids.  I too realize that I am five…I am America’s Black Woman.

B. Charles Jones