Sister’s Song



Tell her why my skin does fly,

Lifted above rims of pain.

Jolted, and squeezed,

thus wrangled glass,

I’d sing beating my cow drums with my thumbs.

Heaving low and high,

The cicadas on Cicero,


Caged birds,

Little birds like me


Let the dew catch her blade of grass.

Watch the wind whirls her summer’s haze

Tell my sister,

She knows why I sing.






Published by: Visionariekind

Krissy Mosley is a story-teller. Recalling stories to build bridges of peace. A folklorist to bring sounds of joy and healing vibrations. Krissy Marie is a writer /feminist, mother advocating for change surrounding women’s rights and women's’ issues.

Categories Poetry6 Comments

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