Cycles

by Latorial Faison


I lift my head
from the palms of my hands
and extend them to you

come and be my dove

and I'll set you free
to dream, esteem
and tell little black babies

what America means

I close my eyes
as the blood trickles down
youthful cheeks and frowns

burning with desire for babies

whose babies
are not yet born
the beautiful ones

often born without a chance


Copyright © October 2005 Latorial D. Faison