Grand-mama’s Laughter

abstract thoughts

disconnected

unsure of how to hold 

trace of skin hanging

pink meat on white bones

black faces

 

thirsty for knowledge

we spin in circle

a heart beat

in the dead beat city

the graves of our ancestors

chased ,

we jumped

higher, harder

ambitious

believing  agency was a word we inherited

inked in our skin

forgetting to look back to cords

 noose tied to the house

us the foundation

 

we jumped high

longing for the feeling of the quiet rumble,

the sounds after the tornado has taken

our eyes

to notice

the hot air sipping

 sewn lips, bony hands grinding to dust a future

half- awake

from her hollowed belly 

Higher and Harder

we jumped into the rumble

for a taste

of her voice

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