I brushed the earth off my shoulder.
I’ll miss the sunshine, miss its lure.
I climbed through the stones of molder,
My mind and needs no longer pure.
Some black kind and some black design;
Some deep, dark, dank life is now mine.
The black dress I was buried herewith,
Match my dirty hands clasped in prayer.
The mouth I kissed my mother with,
Quivers with hunger, so beware.
Some black kind and some black design;
Some deep, dark, dank life is now mine.
–Danielle S. J. Smith
Advertisement
