In the south, way-way back in the woods stood my old -home-church. A small off-white building. Where I learn to play the drums, direct the youth choir and for the life of me- I don’t know why, I do believe.
I would take off my Sunday shoes and race on that dusty- dirt road. Covered in dirt from the waist down. Felt like, I did, some of my best running back at that ole’ church.
I remember the hot sweaty air, accumulating down into my off white stockings. My off white stockings slipping pass my hips. My long piano fingers -pinching my waistline for dear life. All I wanted to do was win.
Kick my heels back, point my chin to the sky, taste sweet nothings’ in the breeze, close my eyes and feel like I’ve been running for miles, only to go fifteen meters toward the church steps.
Dust off my ruffled black skirt and walk up the stairs like the wind had been knocked out of me. All the while I could hear the joyous music of praise and jubilee.
in the morning, high above the air
clouds touching the endless hopes of glory
ours souls talk,
running out of words,
falling flat on our faces,
tender calling, oh’ to touch
the hem of his garment.
be made whole, in love
be made whole, in laughter,
be made whole, in grace,
be made whole, in wellness
be made whole, in age,
be made whole, in spirit
your kindness sister Krissy Mosley