Thursday, June 20, 2024

A Vision of Sands

I saw Her, my God,
Standing in desert
With the hint of a mountain
Behind Her

I saw Her hand
It was filthy
The filthy hand of my God
Her clothing was draped and
Wrapped between her thumb
And other fingers

She wore all white
But it was brown with
The sands of the ocean
Before Her
Behind Her

Whether She had just freed Her people
Or was in the process of about to do so
I could not tell
But I did see in Her curled, aged hand, determination

She, my God, was driven, divine, giving me hope
For a future, for liberation, for a detour on this course
Of community and political strife, life, and neglect