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Tratto dal Capitolo VIII – Election, I libro Rose Evolution Saga. La prima volta che Ehvena ha sentito la voce dopo le scosse, la prima volta che questa ha pronunciato il suo nome. ©️Ester K. ©️Esterk21 #esterk21 #election #roseevolutionsaga #primolibro #lavoce #ehvena #wattpad #wattpaditalia #mybook #ilmiolibro #scrittrice #passionescrittura #bestofwattpad #copyright2015 #copyright2018

she pins her hair upward/ if not it falls free and lengths/ itself to the mid of her back/ her skin is a faint brown /light is jealous of/ It throws a tantrum and/ tries to beat her in the open/ she manages to shake it off/ with a smile/ administers a small platoon of teeth – / they line up according to height/ each tall, straight, unwavering/ if grace had legs/ would it move as smoothly/ as hers I wonder/ what does the wind say/ when her hips brushes it/ aside in their conquest of motion/ the sea cannot be emulated really,/ but I contemplate the depth her/ eyes hide and how easily they pull in.

For her. For them. For us.

I won’t pretend or imagine I know what it’s like to hold that stick in your palm and watch it turn positive. to now hold a promise in your gut. to have your breath become faint and full in a steady rhythm. that’s a music that I know nothing of. I know nothing of the joy at seeing your belly balloon with more than hot air on the inside. the adjusting to being a landlord of your own body. the mood swings that followed. how to sustain a small sun in your smile. how to carry the whole world in a tear drop. the happy in your soul as his breath defeated the first flame on a birthday cake. how many times he found a bed in your arms. all the nights sleep called in sick & your worry worked overtime. his first lie & the disappointment invading your face. the first joke shared to reach inaudible laughter.

nothing.

I would like to believe though, that the hallelujahs served off of tongues is not enough. the hands reaching upwards to make use of a broken praise is not enough. even though the faith is in you. even though one of these days both you & him may sit at the welcome table. the pain to have laid there, in a panic of immobility. to see all his substance leak across to you from that forced exit. to lay there with held breath. to slowly die while appearing dead, is enough. to hold a venomous stare. to birth thunder in your veins. to give your heart away to unholy prayer. to seed hatred. Remember

Sorrow forever seeks the happy

& though we delight in the church being a house of prayer it is also most suited for funerals.

- ronnel

28/30 - A lesson in narrative/how we learned to breathe fire

What we know is that it wasn’t born in us. What we know is that they dished it out first & in our right to not eat made a war out of refusal. Branded NO as savage Branded NO as enough reason to fill our veins to capacity. Bludgeon our bodies to keep it there, keep it safe in the blood. & it is 400 years past the expiration date, & we are about ready to throw it out, rid ourselves of its putrid smell. But THEY. The ones who gave us it, deny their ‘gift’. Say that we could keep it as long as it’s sealed. Are quick to jolt memory of their follow ups. The buy one & get one free? You know em Jim crow & the abolition of slavery.

*** But it is 2015, & what we know is that the headlines in Baltimore read savages. What we know is that their tongues turn us back into niggas on reflex, as though involuntary, as though natural & according to script. Yes all according to script. The headlines, the history, the niggas, the strange fruit, the tied nooses, the BODIES (black), the flames, all of the flames. Everything planned when they gifted us fire. - r.n