by James Keane

Perhaps your sounds asleep are signs

you wander furtively through

fear, praying darkness alone

will touch you in the tunnel


you blunder through.  Soft

pressing unleashes a sudden

ghost, grabbing. Bleating, you

struggle away, prey to shadows


sucking you further in: malice

from a jealous brother, hatred from

a dead mother, love of a living father

who ignores you still. What


angels, weeping, kind as you,

would adore in you,, sleeping

yet approaching, your shadows,

creeping, hovering, blind as you,


would kill.  Open your eyes,

and they never will.



I see you standing tall, not

basking, together in the after-

glow of the ESPY Awards show,

African-American daughters

to the core, your graceful

smiles born of ebony,

beauty, maturity, success

and so much more, when

a sudden thought gently

stirs me to smile

out loud: if you were

my daughters. I would be

so proud.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s