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The Creation
What is the earliest memory of your childhood? Was it something terrible – a wound that hurt you then, and aches even now – a trauma that influenced your decisions from that day forward? Was there a cataclysm, an awakening event so powerful that it flooded your mind, knocked you off your feet, and washed…
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Resurrection
Dear Reader, I have missed you. The twin sisters of winter, Cold and Darkness, sneaked up on me last December with their claws. Now I find myself emerging, like a crocus from the ground, renewed with hope, a participant in the rising fragrance of spring.
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Water Grave
Feelin’ downcast, feelin’ down, staring empty at the groundEyelids drooping, face a frown, don’t want anyone aroundSilent now the youthful sounds, buried underneath the brownEarthen packing ‘round the crowns, clutching firm the ones who drowned. Frigid waters licking clean the wounds from all the years between likeHockey games for skating teens who spilled their blood…
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Dedication to my Father
Beneath the bones of my skull, imbedded forever, lie all the fingerprints of those who shaped me. But the deepest impressions of all were made by J. Michael Thompson. I was three years old when my father taught me James Weldon Johnson’s greatest poem, The Creation. We memorized it together. But one line was my…
