When We Hold the Sky

Feels like I’m holding onto two mighty big things, when it comes to loving the Black Man.


You see, in one hand, one hand I’m balancin’ sumthin real sweet-like and effortless. Makes me feel like a young gal to be sneakin’ kisses, like them old, church ladies watchin’ and awaitin’ to be swept off they feets like that again, too. Hoping some of this new Black love would rub off on them. Lot’s of ‘em lose the feelin’ early and that scares me, losin’ the newness. I promised myself I would stay open lyk da new blooms on the dogwood trees in the springtime. Promised I’d let myself stay woozy off the scent like a drunk man, always beggin’ for more. Lovin’ da Black man like swimming in syrup tinged rivers, you get caught up in the sweetness of it all. You let the summer chase ya’ll like chilluns, dancin’ about through the thang. Prancin’ around in the sweltering heat, letting your sweaty clothes cling to your bodies, hanging on one another for dear life.


In the other hand, feels like I’m holdin somethin fragile, like it’s liable to break at any moment. I watch the Black man be broken down into little pieces and built back up. I watch him unfold like a caterpillar nesting on Georgia cotton. Watch him break his back for the White man and raise his fist for his people. I watch him stand tall with the height of God himself and be as meek as a kitchen mouse. I watch him carry the world on his shoulders and be full of the universe itself. It’s scares me so, too, get scared that one day he’ll break so, and will never be put back together again. I pray fo’ em more than anyone else. I watch the sky, hoping it won’t be too much for us to carry together. At night, I stare at him, watching his ribs heave and ho, watching him carry the world, and me, too. I cry, wonderin’ how he holds it all together, wonderin’ if he would quit altogether if he could.


But then he reach over and tell me, “Go to sleep now baby,” and I let that voice sing to me like a sweet lullaby. You see, the Black man is what restores my Faith in this world that get’s so ugly-like and stirred up.


Cus’ he’ll be carrying the sky, and I’ll be right there with him.


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Her name is Mikhayla and she likes to view life in the light of words. She never knew how to express herself until she started writing. Her words have freed her, and she hopes they can do the same for others.


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