Momma’s God

debBy Deb Anderson-Pratt, October 15, 2012

As a little girl I cried “God”
as thoughts of how i could
end the pain of all abuse
verbal, mental, physical, sexual
Momma’s God held my hand saying
“I am here my child in everything”

As an adolescent I cried “God”
as thoughts of how i could
wipe away the words he told
me as he used my body “you’re
just a dirty Indian, nobody will care”
Momma’s God held my hand saying
“I am here my child in everything” Continue reading

Tears

tears-paintingBy Tommy Airey

I’m about to tear this place up over
here—tear rhymes with dear, not
bear, got it? I’m ready for a
release, a timeout from counterfeit
masculinities, stripping my soul
away with a singular option for outlet:
anger. That’s a dangerous menu for white
male men going postal over years of
pent up pain and pressure to be part
lone ranger part method actor,
redacting our true selves, abusing the very
ones nurturing us back into humanity.
A spiritual discipline to unlearn
patriarchy: let it rain.