Woman's Spirit

I sit cross legged in the dimly lit corner.
My back leans against the cool baby blue walls,
Walls of a room that is mine but not mine.
Sunlight shines through the slits in my blinds
And my young eyes lay on the slotted scene
Of peace lilies, Golden Pothos and Orchids
Looking into the face of my mother’s everlasting mercy
She rains down cold water, and ojos de sol, and loving prayers against the grainy beige of our not so home,
The house that is my mother’s but not mother’s.
This is where I find myself,
Enjoying the sounds of manila pages turning in the noisy silence of our home,
Surrounded by relics, past down from warm worn palms and sugar mama lips.
The cracking of ancient spines excites my young fingertips.
I’m ready to receive gods greatest gift.
Ears open, 
Eyes wide,
Pen in hand, 
I know what lies within.
After all, I came here for old spirits,
For Lorde and Brooks molding Shea butter babies out of African clay,
For Take Me Back and Beauty for Ashes making their homes in the curve of cassette tapes and my freshly pierced ears, 
For the wooden spoon in my stew peas and ginger in my tea and my mother’s hands carrying it all, 
For Celie’s smile and Eve’s hands and Claire’s eyes,
For the love of deep brown eyes and baby ghosts crying in my living room.
I raise my face like the peace lilies and feel Gods love bless my cheeks with mint leaves,
And pray silently for the grace,
The power and the courage,
To accept my birthright,
To let my spirit shine.