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“My mother was my first country. The first place I ever lived.” – “lands” by Nayyirah Waheed, Poet & Activist
I should have made Mama take a dozen more pictures. I should have given her a thousand kisses. I should have slept at her feet. I would have if I’d known I’d never see her again.
“A riot is the language of the unheard.” – Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
She’s a straight line of color sketched into the desert landscape, transformed by a glamor of dust and sunlight.
“I came here to mourn. When it was time for the rite of passage from girlhood to womanhood, I came here to dance. We worship here; we wed here. The ground where you sit, our pews. The trees around you, our steeples. You are standing in our church.”
On rare occasion, you come across someone who just gets you, and you don’t have to figure out your place. Wherever you are is okay.
Lennix Moon Hunter has left more than an impression. She’s left her mark on me. And it’s shaped like a star.
“What you get by achieving your goals is not as important as what you become by achieving your goals.” ― Henry David Thoreau
If a kiss has a color, this one is the muted shades of the sky overhead, a ménage à trois of midnight and indigo and moonshine silver. If a kiss has a sound, this one is the concert of our breaths and sighs and moans. If a kiss has a taste, it tastes like this. Hunger flavored with yearning and spiced with desperation. With bites and growls and tender licks and soothing whimpers. Perfectly served portions of sweet and scorching.
“I’m saying maybe she’s not a wild oat,” Owen offers. “Maybe she’s a wild dream.”
