Convinced

(sister to the moon)

More poignant than Melville

and his Moby Dick;

more subtle, yet

direct to the point

and an honest epiphany (straight

                like the spine on my

                White Oleander)

she sits in the realm

of spiritual growth,

saying her words -

                singing her song,

                reciting her lines,

                telling her poems, toying sweet

                with the prose -

onto ears trained

to know and see the undulation

of her poetry flow; upon the lair

of professional little-white-liars

just like the prophesy

                (foretold

                riddles, rhymes, fiddles,

                blue moons of Kentucky)

she shines in her innocent crime,

a divine spectacle - she sits.

She sways to the beat

of River, Cross My Heart (or something-

or-other-type gospel) wondering -

when?

When they gon’ respect me?

Her name:  Sister to the Moon.

Copyright © 2005 Jacquii Cooke