It is strange sometimes, sleeping in their camp, 

but I understand the fight.

Not wanting just one group, always in control

especially as a child cries for food,

in Brooklyn

and a Grandmother in Detroit

can’t afford her medicine.


Poetry © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

As Our Children Continue to Grow


Remembering little hands covered with dirt and loving it

I shoveled, but you guided them with tenderness, planting

flowers, tomato plants, and some herbs, your hands

covering theirs

down on our knees,

explaining the sun, brings growth

as you closed your eyes, we were silent

smelling the earth

you prayed, and we both pray now

as our children continue

to grow.


Poetry and Image© Copyright 2017, ancient skies