Today I took my little sisters to the library and read a book about brother wind. It is a book that details the actions of a young southern black girl on her quest to capture the wind, who is depicted as a blue airy type with a stick. My sister wandered off to indulge herself in what appeared to be a spiritually destructive "Dora the Explorer" game. I read on to discover that the particular Caucasian who authored "brother wind"had some very strange ideas about what African-American people choose to do in their free time.
I want to share a poem:
I approached the edge of the peir
and fell off
into the water
where I sank into
the water
whose cold, icy hand
was chilling
and had a cooling effect
on my heart
and I felt the pain
of being in the wet dank grasp
of something to which I had to submit
because I couldn't find a ladder
because I couldn't see
because my contacts fell out
because I have oddly shaped eyeballs
Very poignant and insightful!
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