A Black Woman Taught Me How To Pray

A black woman taught me how to pray... Walking through the valleys and shadows of death her hands taught me how to kneel beside my bed and the breathing that took place before I said Dear God… And I understood the depths of devotion from her voice… Blood sweat and tears were a cross to bear in her footsteps Heaven had heard her cries every moment the world got amnesia to her divinity… How often must the ground hug her knees… "Be at peace Arnold" is what she used to whisper to me… Lord I taste your love in her hugs,the trials and tribulations of your pain in her eyes so I sing hymns in praise of the day she taught me the beauty of psalms 23. Walk silently. Evil knows things the wind hasn't blown over and sin kisses passionately with ease, I know destruction might be something my atmosphere craves. But a black woman taught me how to pray… Words to help me fight darkness in ways turning on the light never could so be patient. How many times has "our father" stopped earthquakes from ripping reality to pieces? Fears embodying grotesque beings have picked at my psyche her fingertips along my temple came with peace and now I ascend... The clouds graze my feet as I kiss stars when I close my eyes and speak with Him… And a black woman taught me how to pray... Demons bow to my feet when I recite the words she passed down to leave my mouth A black woman taught me how to pray... Because the world beats her into amens the moment she chooses to exist outside of spaces willing to hear her cries.