82
" Breathe in, breathe out. Without the fire, the phoenix never rises from the ashes. Let the fire scorch the skin and burn the soul, allowing yourself to absorb the pain and understand the sincerity of the pain. Breathe in, you are not the past, you are not the future; breathe out, you are simply each breath, the present moment. As you breathe in and breathe out, acknowledge all the trials you have overcome thus far, and that you can continue to overcome all else without doubt. Breathe in, breathe out. "
85
" The sun rises bright and beautiful as if it feels no pain.
It must not see, it must not hear, it can't possibly or it would not be able to overcome so defiantly.
My bed creaks and whines when I leave it behind.
I don't know why it tries so hard to hold onto me but yet I continue to try and overcome.
I put on my shirt, my pants that fit me, find my socks and glue my heel back to my boot.
My gloves are lost, my coat is torn but my scarf still keeps me warm and so I continue to try and overcome.
Work has no pride, no place for me but I have no other place to be.
My broken dreams continue to rise, my hopes continue to fade but still I try to overcome.
A broken window and a gas tank on E, it's not Friday so I have to walk each day for at least another three.
And so I walk while the world cries and pleas and tries to swallow me but still I continue and try to overcome.
My lock on my door only turns halfway, but I don't have anything to steal anyway.
My fridge is bare but my cabinet still holds three so I continue to try and overcome.
The news haunts me, the weather threatens to rain down on me but another day has gone by.
And I have overcome, I have overcome … I have overcome - the sun has nothing on me. "
― Jennifer Loren
88
" STAINS
With red clay between my toes,
and the sun setting over my head,
the ghost of my mother blows in,
riding on a honeysuckle breeze, oh lord,
riding on a honeysuckle breeze.
Her teeth, the keys of a piano.
I play her grinning ivory notes
with cadenced fumbling fingers,
splattered with paint, textured with scars.
A song rises up from the belly of my past
and rocks me in the bosom of buried memories.
My mama’s dress bears the stains of her life:
blueberries, blood, bleach, and breast milk;
She cradles in her arms a lifetime of love and sorrow;
Its brilliance nearly blinds me.
My fingers tire,
as though I've played this song for years.
The tune swells red,
dying around the edges of a setting sun.
A magnolia breeze blows in strong,
a heavenly taxi sent to carry my mother home.
She will not say goodbye.
For there is no truth in spoken farewells.
I am pregnant with a poem,
my life lost in its stanzas.
My mama steps out of her dress
and drops it, an inheritance falling to my feet.
She stands alone: bathed, blooming,
burdened with nothing of this world.
Her body is naked and beautiful,
her wings gray and scorched,
her brown eyes piercing the brown of mine.
I watch her departure, her flapping wings:
She doesn’t look back, not even once,
not even to whisper my name: Brenda.
I lick the teeth of my piano mouth.
With a painter’s hands,
with a writer’s hands
with rusty wrinkled hands,
with hands soaked in the joys,
the sorrows, the spills
of my mother’s life,
I pick up eighty-one years of stains
And pull her dress over my head.
Her stains look good on me. "
― Brenda Sutton Rose
100
" You are aware of only one unrest;
Oh, never learn to know the other!
Two souls, alas, are dwelling in my breast,
And one is striving to forsake its brother.
Unto the world in grossly loving zest,
With clinging tendrils, one adheres;
The other rises forcibly in quest
Of rarefied ancestral spheres.
If there be spirits in the air
That hold their sway between the earth and sky,
Descend out of the golden vapors there
And sweep me into iridescent life.
Oh, came a magic cloak into my hands
To carry me to distant lands,
I should not trade it for the choicest gown,
Nor for the cloak and garments of the crown. "
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe , Faust, First Part