portrait little black girl


Why call you Alone,

invested in the idea of a suspended nothingness

fodder for smiling “peace”-cloaked wolves?

Alone betrays reality; tells lies on truth.

You are many and much

yet Alone is not in their number.


Why call you Alone,

when grandmothers’ stand surrounded?

Stay you there at her side, a little behind

white skirts greeting the wind.

Hold tight to grandmothers’ white flapping;

feel your little head bump occasionally the backside of her thigh.

Did you not know it is here safety calls home?


Peer at the world with its grinning devils,

see death’s multitude faces reaching, trying to say hello,

from the cool fortress of behind grandmothers’ thighs

from the barracks of behind grandmothers’ skirts.

See fully now, no fear-filled squints

The backitive in front, all around you.


A sea of grandmothers ancient as the first.

Mother earth the root; Mother moon the source

Standing, a firm circle embrace of their daughter

Full-moon bright your eyes, you’ll see clearer still

That you are many and much

Yet Alone is not in their number.

art - dark roots


© July 2016


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