Hello, world, where the sun rises and falls against the backs of those in detention camps, where the mothers’ run to collect their children, catching tears, wrecking traps/wrecking balls of thunderous multitudes
oh the dream, the crashing and burned American Dream…
echoing, thirsty prayers to our people. prayers that run amuck, prayers that I thought, got to be stuck, at the bottom of “all God’s Children need shoes” Need : To be home, need to be wanted, need to be held by the tired arms’ of those who’ bleed on repetitive cycles – women, without the gag- women who would gladly bleed for their children,
women who’ve tasted grief, by the kiss of morning, swallowed by the beautiful dirt of the afternoon, where I met a South African’ woman she’d come to work with me but she’d had not a smile to wear. Said she didn’t remember how to properly put it on across the slash she’d call lips.
Said it wouldn’t be right after all the murderous-screams’ and still she couldn’t press out the stain of devastation in the hems and it seems- that kind of hatred. Dwarfs countries, I know this because in capitalism- I’ve heard my great grandfather’s stories about our own…
Old man Jack was a slave sent over on a Nigerian slave ship- he too, endure the great and terrible passage, Old Man Jack was a man – the meanest of those who refuse to be broken, Said he was a man, before the Americas’- and that his master could beat him all he wants, but after the great sun went down, Old Man Jack still refused to work.
And when his master died, Old man, Jack became free. He settled down in the mountains he married a Native American(Blackfoot) woman, started drinking real-heavy like and froze to death in the snow. We’d soon move to El Paso, Del Rio, then on to Liberty and then onto San Antonio where my grandmother’s father, would orally pass down the story of Old Man Jack -the meanest man we know.
kindness sis. Krissy (original family photo )
Krissy Mosley Ministries 