In a mirrored sea, they float.
Back and forth…
Stars dimming to lament their loss.
Where were the souls?
Stolen-
With muffled cries and bruised wrists.
Were they ever to see each other again?
The shadows cast the night upon them beneath the willows,
And sadness swept over the water.
They wouldn’t be going home.
Hands held close with lariats,
Drifting like ghosts over the surface in the tide.
The children watched the mist gather from their breath,
As they raised their bloodied knuckles to say goodbye.
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Reviews of "Glass Children"
Reviewed by mary jones (Reader)
Reviewed on August 13, 2018
This poem is easy to visualize and feel. Your ability is impressive. I really enjoyed this. Thanks! Mary
This reminds me of the books from the early 1800's when the slave ships, out of Africa ,would dump their booty of living children lest they be caught. The slaves would be thrown overboard and eventually sink. This is a most horrid situation but very true when the Morroccan slave owners would bring their slaves over many oceans to sell. This is chilling.
Love,
Mom
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
(Self-published. Please contact author directly to order.)
Enter the pages of diaspora in quiet introspection. Bathe your thoughts with subtle humor; synchronize your spirit-sense with history-in-heat; fall headlong with eyes wide open into
Love,
Mom
Be safe,
Karen
Fee