She does not tell stories of other people by using broken language that prostates their dignity. She refrains from recycling other people’s words as descriptions. When those words burn like Hiroshima’s through the landscape of the soul and its traumas. And leave us needing miracles to resurrect it all. Praying for new life from the decimated soil.
She does not write people off , or reduce them to card board; one dimensional and simplified cut outs. Pariah silhouettes devoid of features, positioned on the outside. She does not put words in the mouths of people she doesn’t understand, move their mouth like the doll of a ventriloquist. Of all the things that she could be – ignorant or cruel, or complacent or dismissive she chooses to be possessed by kindness.
Her mouth is an oasis from which the thirsty drink self-worth. And those who have plucked and cursed their flesh so far, stretch out and celebrate their birth. She is there in the nakedness of soul; as I strew secrets behind me. When my life feels unsanitary, somehow public and vagrant. When my vulnerability is dropped in front of crowds on stages. When I am so ashamed I feel I could die, she’s there on her knees looking me in the eye.
And He loves through her so clearly – the spirit of God. Pours rain through the windows of claustrophobia. When I prickle with hotness and feel small and odd. The Christ that lives inside her, is a pillow to the soul. I lay my dirty hair down and find respite in the friendship. And I see what it means to have Jesus in the bones, stitched through the capillaries, in the muscles of ones smile. Because of all the things that she could be – ignorant or cruel, or complacent or dismissive she chooses to be possessed by kindness.
© 2021 Tendayi Sutherland
