Manhood Foolishness

Juanita_Story3Manhood Foolishness

by

Juanita Story

From sinew to bone, from my eyes to yours, I am struck by this thing called manhood!

The halls ring all day long with the caustic sound of your half-truths and lies.

Shades of a man that once was are in evidence everywhere.

Upon the desk, scattered and painted with the fine caress of dusts’ playful anguish, I can see it all.

Piled high now, your unkept words, your wayward responsibilities laughingly haunt my dreams.

Such arrogance.  Such bravado.  Such shame.  Yet you find glory in the hunger pains of those too weak to say enough, too weak to stand for themselves, too young to understand.

This then is your glory and your legacy.  Yours is a heritage now begun under the clouds of deceit and cowardice.

There is no pause button here.  Life has no more time nor riches to waste on what should have been glorious days of love and births and songs sung without hope’s loss…

I for one cannot abide your silence yet I crave your absence.  I desire this void be filled with another more worthy than you.

I cannot teach you to love yourself.  What fields of folly called you away on that day of learning is lost to me.

I cannot put steel in your spine.  The water damage is too severe to repair.

I cannot give you sight.  You poured too much hate into those soulless sockets.

I cannot open your understanding.  Ears closed and capped with lies and whispers of false pride prevent further hearing though truth sings as loud as the siren song of a thousand space shuttles.

From sinew to bone, from my eyes to yours, I am lifted by this thing called womanhood.

Go Home Charity

Juanita_Story4Go Home Charity

by

Juanita Story

Charity begins at home. What if you don’t have a home? What if every door knocked upon denied you respite? What if only the soles of your feet could tell the story of your departure?

Where then is charity? Where is she when only the painful comfort of blacken asphalt remembers your name? Where is she when black eyes and crows call you cousin and friend? Where is charity when the dew of night’s fallen mist is your blanket?

Come now to me lover. Explain your absence. Explain my broken heart.  Come now to me my champion.  Pull my hair and release my darkness.  Explain your travels.  Explain the means of your great escape.  Take me down and reveal my tear.

If the sounds of her Nubian experience frighten you, disarm you, make you pale with regret, then charity has found her home. Open wide and welcome her in. Her chains rattle for but a moment. Her back is yet unbowed. Glistening is her many sorrows but she has found her home. Pull back the curtain and watch her dance in the firelight of a new tomorrow.

Charity begins at home and home is where her heart was.  She is out there, somewhere.  Her heart is at home, out there, somewhere.

Charity is home. Her company is well fed. Their beds are warm and well slept. Charity is alone.