I Be

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Supposedly I am suppose to dig deeper. I am suppose to be in the throws of birth pains and to some extent birthing something from within that needs to come into the world. I am to be pushing. Push! Push!

"Ice Cream Soda Water Lemonade tell me the letter of your boyfriends name." Of course this is one of those songs that little black girls sing differently from little other girls. I googled it.

I read that we all have gifts. We need to share these gifts with the world. Our gifts will be reveal to us. We all will discover our gifts. Our gifts will be uncovered.

"Miss Mary Mack Mack Mack all Dressed in Black Black Black with 24 buttons buttons buttons up and down her back back back."

Some of our minds are so full of information and ideas that it could might well be hard to distinguish your gift from your talent. It might well be that the brain is so full of of triviality that it has missed that connection to the heart and spirit and fell off the wagon of impregnation and into the field of survival nation. What is it that we take for granted. Could it be that gift.

"This old man He played one he played nick-nack on my thumb with a nick-nack paddy wack give a dog a bone."

Connecting with the neighborhood children wasn't hard to do. A rock that left dust trails gave way to hop-scotch and four square. A tennis ball and a broom stick birth a nice game of stick ball. Oh boy did a tennis ball fly further than baseballs or softballs off of broom sticks. But we would always, "Run get it."

Red light! Green Light! Mother may I. Yes you can! Tag you're it. Sorry, Trouble, and Jacks with the one hand lag took the place of imagination didn't it.

I was given birth. I was given life. I dream. I breathe. I Be.


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