#GloPoWriMo 15/30: Dance

She dances with the wind. 
She is connection. 
Connecting us. 
Equal parts global, 
and local. 
Maybe God is in the ocean. 
Maybe God is the ocean, 
A trinity turned quartet. 
She will speak,  
if you listen. 
She will love,  
without conditions. 
She doesn’t charge the surfer
for the wave. 
Just happy he got his surfs up. 
She caresses the shoreline, 
Melodic and sweet.
Millions of miles. 
Smiling on those
who visit. 
Loving those
who need it. 
Keeping the
secrets of the ocean talkers
She dances. 
She is the tide.

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#GloPoWriMo 10/30: The Fruit

He stares at me
intently. 
Studying my being. 
He knows
something is different. 
That I’m not like them.
That I’m not like him. 
He hears in my accent
that this 
is not my home.
To be surrounded
but be alone. 
Told that
I’m not African
enough. 
Not Black
enough. 
If it’s us versus them, 
I was sure
that I was us.
But I’m not. 
Not enough
for the exclusive. 
Our ancestors
could have been neighbors, 
and this ain’t neighborly. 
I am not the enemy. 
We
have much more in common.
Perhaps our differences
aren’t that different. 
The same tree 
planted elsewhere. 
We are 
similar fruit.

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