don’t sleep in no fancy silk pajamas don’t wanna cover up my birthmark cuz i don’t want the lord making any mistakes about whose time it is or who did what with whom last saturday night not that the lord would make a mistake but given his angels were once human well enough said
crossing the railroad tracks the pastor arrived at an old post-war bungalow residence of miss maybel who in her prime was much sought after by a number of the town’s most charming and handsome men of color but she had said no to all saying i’ve fought for women’s rights civil rights and looked after white folks’ homes and their children so i don’t have time or energy to look after anyone else but myself age took her suitors some time ago as well as most of her women friends she didn’t make it to good friday service so pastor decided to stop by she didn’t answer the door but it was open calling in he thought he heard her so he entered pale sitting in a chair was maybel death even makes a man of god stop and evaluate life but he quickly resumed his role and asked if she was ready to meet her maker with her last inaudible breath she answered
the sea
has invaded
a small corner
of
the ship’s lounge
just below
the fancy tables
staking claim
to
all onboard
a salty residue
a reminder
that
we shall
all
return to the sea
from which
we emerged from
at
the beginning
of
time
the lives of those who defined who we are have washed away like sand as we stood on life’s beach admiring the view and enjoying its offerings but just lately you may have begun to feel the cold surf beneath your feet as someone further on shore admires the view
