Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I wait for the final bus, said Sassy,
The moon kisses my youthful head with its
Silvery lips, the chill wind bites my dark

Fingers and toes, the ticking of time tastes
My flesh like a lizard’s tongue. I wait in
The glass bus shelter, the glass reflects my

Youth and skin, the shadows have potential
Rapists, muggers, and nightmares foes, each step
I take betrays the fears I breed and feed,

Each touch of wind a killer’s bloody hand,
A whispered threat. I sit and feel the hot
Branding of my forebears’ limbs, the slaves

Who haunt my dreams and speak my tongue, I am
The child of slavery, I hear the chains
Rattle as I speak, I feel the white man’s

Touch across my back, the glass opposite
Reveals me female and black. I wait for
The last bus that does not come, the chilly

Wind nibbles the tips of my toes, echoes
The voice of centuries, the kiss of God
Where the African American goes.

some very good lines throughout and convincing images to match,
and as Gil Scott-Heron expressed in a song called "Gun", ..." the danger's sure enough real ".......you make a sure enough real connection, the history of slavery, and the continued fear of modern life in the city.....well done

thank you, Saw.