My Joy, Our Serendipity


Black Joy looks like Bette Mae smiling at me like she's
known me in lifetimes where we've met up for tea in
gardens of Lavender and Jungle Lillies,
danced in the moonlight in a field of Daisies,
planted an Evergreen and found each other
over and over again to watch it grow through the ages.

Black Joy sounds like the comfort in our silence
because we found each other again,
sounds like the pop of skin on skin as her tiny hand
collides with my cheek in the middle of the night
because she needs to have one more talk with me
to tell me things that her undeveloped tongue
can't express yet
Maybe to tell me that she loves me,
that she's glad she found me again,
that I make her proud.

Black Joy feels like the assurance that we will find
each other again after we fall asleep and leave these
bodies for newer vessels as if time and matter and
fate were divinely created to keep us together
because her spirit id my fortune, my wealth, and my
peace just as mine is hers.

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