When she was a girl in those days
Her Mama bought a piece of mosaic fabric
Weaved salvaged edges into historical truth
I heard her say
You could buy a piece of mosaic fabric
For ten cent a yard
She resounded with clarity
Through her veil of trimmed notions
For ten cent a yard
Inspiration was sewn into our lineage
Preserving amid the crow of notions
Her Mama made sack dresses from lack
Stitched threads that spurred our lineage
To crease hems in place of mediocrity
Sack clothing was made with praising hands
Because Southern crops impaled the boll of grasps
She turned to hymns instead of idle hands
And waved them like her Mama’s kinfolk
Who toiled fields that impaled their grasps
But their unbreakable spirit was their balm
Her Mama was as immovable as her kinfolk
She was vigilant and strong and learned
How to wear unbreakable spirit like a balm
That worked narratives into folded seams
She trained her daughters to be watchful; to study
How to buy yards of the mosaic fabric
And line their narratives into the upright seams
We weave our salvaged edges with tangible truth
I’m sitting here wondering, pondering, contemplating, deliberating, anxiously waiting for the precise moment where it all becomes painstakingly clear to me.
But so far nothing; nothing that explains why the Universe has brought me to her- her to me- us together in this time and place…
Ahhh… alas, here we are, two old souls reunited, reconnected from some time past…
She knows me, and I know her, yet there’s so much to discover about one another…
What does her laugh sound like?
When she smiles, does it reach her eyes or remain at her lips?
What does her touch feel like?
Where do her stray thoughts lead her?
There is an attraction that transcends the physical- it’s spiritual. It feels good, it feels scary, it feels authentic, it feels… purposeful…
Almost as if it were meant… the Universe brings people together for a reason. To fulfill its own unique purpose, for whatever length of time…
I suppose time will reveal…
Dawn Edwards wrote her first short story at the age of 8 and has cultivated a deeper love for the written word over the years. She is now a published author, her book is entitled, “Food 4 Thought” and currently has two book projects in the works. She’s a blogger and a political activist who wholly believes that she has the responsibility to use her words, in addition to her legal knowledge and political science background to uplift, motivate and address issues that affect her community. Dawn’s also a mother of 3 boys, and a trained dancer.
“We’re girls, women, human, not a burden.”
If you could talk to one person from the past/present for one hour, who would it be?
I would take just one hour with you, Dad.
and memorize your knuckles
and count the pace between your jokes
look at the stance of your earlobes
allow the electricity to race through my veins as we touch hands
and allow my eyes to connect your pores that capture your
favorite after shave
attach the scent of your breath
have you explain.
ask you the really tough questions
in this softly short period of time
tell you why I chose this place. next to this tree. I love silver dollar trees.
answer more. give me more detail. this is when you’ll see yourself. and know I am so much of your explosive hustle.
and then I’d let you see me cry for the first time ever. for two straight minutes. until your eyes that are mine meet again.
“She received the fruit of the rain at the beginning of God’s mouth
and rubbed her belly for a sense of serendipity
you can’t tell me she ain’t fierce the way she always
embarrass you with the truth.”
“Women of warrior blood
a ritual of stares for superiority
and one word never needs to be spoken
It’s in her eyes
that reflect a promised lake of fire
to toss her divided soul
that pulls at her like a chariot with two head strong horses.”