Over there and over here
storms like Sundays’ meetings
they keep coming.
life’s not supposed to hurt, not like
a thousand different storms
thrashing out that kind of beauty
all we’ve ever owned on the street
evicted shoelaces, and nothing to keep
not the door, not the chair, not the love-seat,
not even the wallpaper.
whispers of voices, walking by
they didn’t notice the beatings,
they didn’t see the bravery
see me standing in the storm
swallow back misery and keep
my feet on the ground
they didn’t see
my ears to the thunder
how wide my hips are- holding all my children
they didn’t see me call on Jesus
walk on water, sweep up my prayers
with brooms, I don’t own
they didn’t know, I brought the storm~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley
A Poet's Vision 
Love the ending, especially “sweep up my prayers with brooms I don’t own.” Lovely!
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thank you Loristrawn 🙂
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Okay, Krissy… this is insanely good! From start to finish, especially the ending. So much power!
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thank you my friend TrE 🙂
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You’re most welcome.
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