For Molly Powell

I see you South Carolina’s motherless child…. The chains of slavery set you free… You are my history book and the link to my pit less soul… Love began with you Mississippi midwife….. Smells of Sage and Catnip, fried green tomatoes and pot liquor… Your veiny swollen hand healed the sick and brought in new life…. Missy Anne played for your time without a lamenting thought your sister you chose …. With loving respect I see you gazing back at me on Murdear’s bedroom wall… Your picture yellow and cracked yet fresh with the dawn…. As your soft brown eyes and pomaded hair blew your aura into the busy confusion of my present… I wish for you…. I long for you…though you have transcended poverty, inadequacies, and time… You are the balm of ancestral roots… My darkest love is your eternal strength… Your great gift of strength challenged me to be….