“somebody/ anybodysing a black girl's songbring her outto know herselfto know youbut sing her rhythmscarin/ struggle/ hard timessing her song of lifeshe's been dead so longclosed in silence so longshe doesn't know the soundof her own voiceher infinite beautyshe's half-notes scatteredwithout rhythm/ no tunesing her sighssing the song of her possibilitiessing a righteous gospellet her be bornlet her be born& handled warmly.”
“The song was born on her breathe and died at her lips.”
“She wanted to know if I loved her, so I texted her a picture of a dead bird.”
“A woman needs to know that her man are strong enough to handle her.”
“She closed tight around him, pulsing. Rico’s fingers dug into her hips. His movements quickened and he found his rhythm. She wrapped her legs around his hips as his body arched, tensed and shuddered with his own release.Someone growled. Him, her, she didn’t know. Her blood pounded so hard and loud in her head she couldn’t be sure.”
“So she doesn't call desertion, poverty, and hard work troubles? She's a brave little girl, and I shall be proud to know her.”