Of Grief Isn’t it an ocean? Full. Expansive. Mysterious. Breathing. This feeling. Rushing and slow Older and longer than all of our lives linked and added together. I sit at its edge. It swells and I can’t move. How it drags me under. There is no fighting back, It’s hands are relentless and reach far.
remembering the moment I owned that I ain’t got to beg for love. or lie for love. or pretend for love. or lighten my eyes or skin for love. smooth out my hair for love. flatten my belly for love. get a Phat-er booty for love. stop choppin’ the ends off words for love. Remembering
The gentle overcomes the strong. I am looking at a river flow; a steady, slow, stream. There are heavy rocks anchored beneath the pulsing river. I lean forward to sense the depth and touch the movement of this moment. Up close, I see the rocks worn, clearly effected, transformed even– by the ambling unhurried dance
I think my southern yogi folk can relate: My mama is a super church going lady, reads The Bible for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And I told y’all she keeps “Jesus on the main line.” My sister and I lovingly call my mama “our holy high roller” when we think she can’t hear us. When