CROSSING THE DISTANCE

#BlackLivesMatter

Concerns2Joys.com By Rev. Michelle Wiltshire-Clement

With one stride, he walks,

but to keep in sync,

my little-me

takes three.

My hand wraps tightly ’round his fingers.

Together, paced 

one, 

one, two, three, 

one, 

and again, 

we safely cross the street.

My dad guided my steps;

I followed by his side and learned.

I learned his gifts.

I learned his faults.

Times later,

I saw his quirks, 

witnessed him aging and aging with perceivable dignity.

I ached

for the reward of his compliment spoken, 

and written, 

and accepted!

I relished them, 

and his smile, 

and his laughter, 

and his cooking, 

and his painting, 

and him.

ONE,

He, 

in body form, no longer exists 

for me to touch, or receive a hug, or that classic grin.

I see him. 

I see his round cheeks and full lips, his wide bright eyes and the gap between his front, two teeth, 

in the mirror.

TWO,

In his darkened, caramel-hued skin tone,

my eyes are not strained to see our ancestral bonds, 

that bridge not too divided by time and space.

THREE.

In our blood and with my black skin 

our histories remain proudly connected. 

On the twin island nation, his birth land, 

provided my father with the nutrients to leave 

and pursue the world of academia on a foreign land, 

the land, that I was born. 

ONE, AND AGAIN…

Together, we walk

despite the passage of time,

we walk with one stride,

with the history of our black skin tattooed on our souls, and

with eyes exposed, open to the elements.

My heart pumps our blood and our pride.

and the division of boundaries crossing 

vast oceans to city streets;

Streets, time, ocean, space, blood, ancestors, nations, black skin and again, beyond all the divides you are remembered.

BLM

BTLM

!Black Lives Matter Black Trans Lives Matter!