My sisters, child, did you hear about me to an early grave?
We the good times we had when we would jump double dutch cracked the concrete sky open with our feet.
I remember now. Games of mash to foretell the number of kids we’ d have, imaging a sweet love that loved us back The horizon daily seeps in our minds.
We ask, where do you think we’ ll go when we die? If Heaven be real, I know my sisters are to be there. A bed of flowers sunken under a newfound youth.
We cackle thinking about the lives we’ ve lived.
Full lips lap around the trumpet sounds escaping our throats. The whole neighborhood heard us, and in a panic, swore it was a rapture.
ANGER
Written by Dorothy Randall Gray Performed by Liza Jessie Peterson
Anger is a woman, you know, but sometimes she don’ t own up to herself. She’ s always denying who she is. Whenever you think you found her and ask, are you angry? She gonna say, No, I ain’ t angry. Are you?
No, I ain’ t angry either.
To hear her tell it, angry never even been born. But I know she got a face you can look at, and a mouth she don’ t use often enough. She got a heart that beats too fast and hands that grab you and don’ t let go. That’ s her way of saying she gonna stay until I sit down and talk with her- until I give her a name.