mouth agape, a gouged landscape
headstones like crooked teeth
her body slain, lain in the pine reeds
a white carnation wreath
offered unto a quieted earth
sky opaque, blanches the scene
ravens on telephone wire
a flock of black umbrellas poised above bowed heads
while hummed “Amazing Grace”
tear-full sobs scatter like loose debris
mama sits in the front row
her fist bruised a purple plume
she gazes at the image bathed in sepia tone
the solemn face regal with afro-crown
bosom swathed in dashiki gown
her Sister, the Sun in Sagittarius
grandmother keeps her grief neatly stowed in her bones
her first born, brutal from the womb
I had climbed atop her hospital bed
her breasts once like majestic mountain peaks
were now flat as horizon
a single tear crushed beneath auntie’s eyelid
trailed into the pillowcase
a daze long-travelled, mama drains of prayer
we sleep in snatches braced for the knell
paper dolls on the hardwood floor
the doorbell rings
screen door slams
grandmother stands in the foyer
“She gone,” the words clumped like clay
I take her hand, a rough terrain
we tread the depths of silence
mama pounds the bedpost
hammer to a nail
a sliver of opaque sky slips through the tinted window
inside the mobile chamber
our Spirits in mournful song
we journey toward God’s acre
a procession of cars like a grand parade
headstones like crooked teeth
her body slain, lain in the pine reeds
a white carnation wreath
offered unto a quieted earth
sky opaque, blanches the scene
ravens on telephone wire
a flock of black umbrellas poised above bowed heads
while hummed “Amazing Grace”
tear-full sobs scatter like loose debris
mama sits in the front row
her fist bruised a purple plume
she gazes at the image bathed in sepia tone
the solemn face regal with afro-crown
bosom swathed in dashiki gown
her Sister, the Sun in Sagittarius
grandmother keeps her grief neatly stowed in her bones
her first born, brutal from the womb
I had climbed atop her hospital bed
her breasts once like majestic mountain peaks
were now flat as horizon
a single tear crushed beneath auntie’s eyelid
trailed into the pillowcase
a daze long-travelled, mama drains of prayer
we sleep in snatches braced for the knell
paper dolls on the hardwood floor
the doorbell rings
screen door slams
grandmother stands in the foyer
“She gone,” the words clumped like clay
I take her hand, a rough terrain
we tread the depths of silence
mama pounds the bedpost
hammer to a nail
a sliver of opaque sky slips through the tinted window
inside the mobile chamber
our Spirits in mournful song
we journey toward God’s acre
a procession of cars like a grand parade
Andria Hill is a poet, singer, songwriter, living in sunny California. Her work
can be found in Spectrum 19: Soul Clean and the Altadena Poetry Review 2020.
can be found in Spectrum 19: Soul Clean and the Altadena Poetry Review 2020.