Autumn had finally brought summer’s thrashing massacre to a halt. To appreciate longer flickering nights of cooler winds. As if two warriors had finally come to one agreement. The sky would round itself closer to us.
Our bodies recuperating from the previous feat. Bronzing our skins with a radiated glow. Looking at daylight, permeated a well-being beyond death or the desire of it. She imagined a life just as rich as the rivers had souls and lungs breathing out convocation with cadence and song.

Krissy Mosley 2016

When we are overwhelmed with safety for our physical bodies, we are seeking refuge. Loneliness steps into a grip, those despairing moments.
Demanding bisque for healing.
Unattended ears pressing toward the mark.
Re- gathering the daughters of giant men.

Mother God, our light.
Discern our direction.
Father God, my Baba.
Our times, our night.

Strive again with us.
Come, Oh Baba, find common ground
I pray that you feel,

Within this fragment
Dividing the waters above
Decimal of waters times waters
Bobbing in the heartless matter

Again shall you breathe the breath of life
Sinew upon sinew
Dash upon dash
Ground over troubled findings
life to live again

Life to discern our direction
Mother God, our light
Father God, my Baba
Our times, our night
Ashe’ Selah

Anytime my fire begins to die,

I dare it to burn brighter

Turning the flames in my hands

Smudging seven spirits

My spine snaps into place.

Burn I say – take shape – I say

Burn against my spine – I say

**

Shaving my head,

Ravishing through and through

Transcending, I dare it –

I say- die again,

Old trappings of sub-oppressors

Turn-over, I dare you.

Burn down idols of heaven, and my body too.

Let us eat the white powdered calf, wet- between my teeth.

Hold still, these bones of sorrow, pomegranates spotting-red.

Marry the purebred collies, herding the flock

Step out of line, I dare you.

**

Melt down the pitchforks

Mummify the guns – under seven seas

Breaking the yolks, wielding poverty

Clothing the Africans

Dancing a holy thing

For I have come back

I dare you

When we sat down by the rivers in Zion
When we wore our songs as garments
With every passing tear leaping from our faces
There we were visited by our reflections of dreams
Dangerously collaborating when “ye were gods”
Holding nightfall in our purses

The brocade of morning dancing on our tongues
And we reciprocated the testimonies every saint,
Resurrecting new life in elders, whose blood still cries out from the ground.
Then every war must cease, to scatter the ashes of nations before us.
Seven trumpets will sound the halt in time, Daniel standing in the holy place. Revealing in summation, the first Adam, the second coming

Krissy Mosley 2016

Drumming on the river’s soul.
Clandestine meetings, hushing the rush.
To be with you, away again.
Moving waters breathed in
a little stillness,
a little joy.
Away from shallows in
deeper the winding stairs.
I am the girl before the river, trying to see the world’s reflection.
I am the girl with no hair, shaven but prepared to see my own eyes.
In turn, I’ll be the river moving waters.
Breathed in,
a little stillness,
a little joy.

Don’t you know I physically perfect my broken wings?
The hangnails that prevent me from gliding
The inner high rises lower cautionary
Don’t you know my dance vibrates every appetite?
Blatantly, dis-labeling who I should be
Therefore, I invite you, get to know
Come closer, I am human
Come close and read my signs,
Blood of victims, no more
Bubonic plague, no more
Blue-hearted frozen and distilled
Transcending gender
Don’t you know, my naked truths are rights,
I found my skin like a virgin
My body, my life
My parts, are mine

Kristina Neal Mosley ©2016 “Saltwater On My Knees”

The purpose of falling wonders under hollow world’s like this one.
Tailoring lightening in our hands, as the world, will breathe on you.
Wisdom gills’ are open.

Then the indescribable knowing,
pain has tied its’ shoes to the knees of suffering.
The calling of our names proved that we belong under the falling lights.

Here in the crowning of mornings’ she takes her rest.
In this knowing, we are more than merely surviving, more than the songs we have feathered. Over the tears that march down streets. Burning strength to go on.

So go on,
Chant with the winds that rush. Spread out and part the waters on both sides. Crossover into this knowing, the purpose of falling wonder,

that you are the miracle in waiting, you are the necessary element, you are bone, you are light, you are befalling, wonder in this knowing.

 

 

Falling flat on our faces was never a part of our story.
We knew it now, the more gentle we were strolling down
unpaved roads that only we could pave.

Our hands made in the evening- springs, lurking between the half light and half- nighted skies. Our lips firmly planted, but our feet, would pick up the river and move it, wherever there was turmoil or the weeping for freedom.
We’d picked up the river and lay it down undoing, the doings, as we sought out more of the river, more affection for our bodies.

And we could regenerate change, as the river would move along the coast of our limbs, wellness was always within our reach.

Picking up the river has a call,
has a knowing
has a touch
Has a picking up and laying it down.
Undoing the doings wherever there was bereavement,
wherever the weeds grew even mortar and bricks could not refuse

The river’s urgent run
Could not refuse, the best part of the river,
could not hold the waters too long or else you’d be a part of it.