Too soon…
Bible in my lap,
A bowl of cereal
In my hands,
I await my turn.
A prayer on my dried lips
And my son at my meaty hip,
I await my turn.
Oxidized rain dance and sear targets –
Lemon-yellow brimstone end lives,
Despair and fear tangible,
Eyes round as Oreos, no use
To screaming, this is a mess.
Glimmers of hope
Dangle on staccato heart strums,
Searching for
Last minute miracles,
Fantasy survival fading.
Sulfuric tears,
He is asleep,
I hold on
And await my turn.
Born and raised in South Central Los Angeles, CA, Kiyatana Sapp discovered she could be heard via writing as a little girl. A poet/spoken-word artist, she has earned a B.A. in Child Development, a M.F.A. in Creative Writing, and was recently certified to teach Creative Writing.
