The profoundness I find in her pronouncing her soul to a microphone evokes an emotion in me. Not yet defined by strings of syllables. Amplifying octaves captured by the ear drums of her listeners, fellow seekers of self, get up on stages, sending sound waves through crowds hoping it’ll resonate with their tribe and call them forward. They each step forward with every note, hands over their hearts. The space between I and U is 11 letters. 11 steps between U and I shortens with each beat of our eardrums.
Joy lives in community.
Live within the ones we call
Mothers and brothers.
Peaks in loud whispers. We once spoke
Quietly to corners.
Truth. Although it may sound like the speaking of tongues to those not meant to understand you.
Under the safety of an umbrella we call community, in case the rain doesn’t stop, in case our hands leave our hearts in favor of another’s toxic grips. The space between U and I shortens like the minutes lost in the eyes of the ones our souls recognize.
Home is where we taste the sound waves of safety,