Of Charcoal Memories

CATEGORY

life

Black as the night

my sable soul sings songs

of Nubian ancestors

sleeping behind closed eyes

in the depths of the inner sanctum

of the womb of mind—silhouettes of beings

peeking through dark skies across ebony horizons.

Granny said, “The blacker the berry;

the sweeter the juice"…that I was created

in the image…"God don’t like ugly…

never made none but crème de la crème…"

That like the ivory clouds of the sapphire sky,

I too am the apple of His eye.