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Black Prayers

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 black skin
so the prayers of the women
the black women

The Bitch

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

The Poet, The Writer, The Thinker - Tayé Foster Bradshaw

Lady in the Blue Chair

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