© 2016 Sandra Jean-Pierr Dust settling and there’s that horizon eyebright painful even with four fingers, planked across brows furrowed in knowing even with shadows cast across broad nose bridges, nostrils flared against the unrelenting stench of dispatched complacency. Blood-speckled freckles, sticky… and it no longer bothers that these hands are dirty, stained that this cutlass (faithful servant) stays clutched, tightly. Their chants call me foolish brave warrior as They pray the way through every battle Their chants, becoming my
2016 © Sandra Jean-Pierre Animals will be animals, regardless of the God they serve. Where love does not abide violence is eminent, where disregard for life lives, Death is gatekeeper. No God is needed to know this.
©2016 Sandra Jean-Pierre Wiry promises through tinny phone lines fall rusted at my feet water to my ankles brushing past my knees, stopping air from meeting my nostrils engulfed in a sea of lies that never knew Truth’s existence And I wonder: how can Life sleep at night?
© 2016 Sandra Jean-Pierre Ghislaine. I am forgetting what your laughter sounds like, your avatar, in my memories: head thrown back, eyes closed in joy, mouth wide in mirth- is silent faded I am no longer able to re-produce You fully. What I remember? the sensation of your laughter rattling every wall in the house, coaxing me from my room to find out, “What’s so funny?” I miss You. Your birthday is coming, sandwiched between Mother’s Day and Your
© 2016 Sandra Jean-Pierre Maybe In another life, where our skins aren’t so papery-thin and our minds aren’t so filled with resignation. …where our ships don’t sail in the darkest of nights, maybe that’s where the sun will greet us.