Pink Lattes and Lavender Shortbread

I am a woman. A black woman. A black woman believer.  I cry out to God. and wonder about all the other women who cry out to God  but wonder if he hears our prayers or catches our tears because in the U.S. black tears seem to not matter and in other countries, they cry out to God in other languages and in head scarves holding their dying children in their arms while in the U.S. we are told to give more or the private jet is needed in order for us to have our turn in  God's line but my theology tells me that He does not have a line and He does hear and He does see and Vengence belongs to him So we smile and keep praying and teaching and living and walking and know that one day It will be all right. Even if we keep praying and it seems the silence is deafening and the divine appears far away on the other side of the world tending to the prayers of the ones  shut out of country because their skin is a little too black even if the ones shutting them out have the same bla

Bitch Not in those words Said like You are crazy You need help You are delusional Because she dared to ask why he didn't pay a bill why he swung a knife cutting up a chicken she already had seasoned and ready because his god demanded the sacrifice and he hid it all to control her moves because her presence was his cover and he called her Bitch without saying it

She sat outside on the balcony A thousand tears streaming down Her friend walked by And told her how lucky she was that her husband paid all the bills She sat outside on the balcony in a blue chair behind yellow sunshades on a cloudy day with a thousand tears streaming down down down Because she was just so lucky that her husband worked and paid all the bills