WingSpan Poetry Project


Inspired by Cynthia Cruz’s Guidebooks for the Dead thank you Stella

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Momma is supposed to be the example of how life should be. That idea in my mind is long since gone.

Lemme tell you what happened.

She’d always let us play on the floor by her purse while the preacher yelled his latest revelation. Those were the times I’d sneak through Momma’s bag looking for candy. Digging through the bottom I’d get dirt under my fingernails and tense up from making any noise of the loose change floating around. I felt rich, I felt hungry. Then Boom! Candy! I started to chew the crimson speck and had a reaction. It was an Ibuprofen, not candy.

Fast forward to the Beauty Bathroom at 22 with foam coming out of the sides of my mouth. Momma taught me to numb the pain during a lecture and I took too many that time. What was supposed to teach me brought me stars, dirt-colored hands, dozing off slightly as the knock on the door continued through the years. God knocking on the door of my heart.



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