An overseer, therefore, must be above reproach, the husband of one wife … 1 Tim. 3:2
I will never get on my knees
for a man
only God.
A quotation from someone
successfully seen
or the least
magnolia tree climbing child
dirt frosted
scratched red skin
two inches below the line
where her white skirt would reach?
It was me.
Nothing shall enter upon my mouth
to block the Voice
that pushed
so hard
to get out
it bled
through scratched skin
where dirt told fables visibly loud
to release
by men be cause
to swallow
into the spot my guts
once lived
before I pulled them free
lips covering teeth through
Tears. Words. Tears.
Words. Words. Words.
For years
knees
voices
prayers
the question
when to bend
shoulder to shoulder
not bowed to crotch.
Gawd as Mother
kisses bruises to heal
puts man on pause.
Whom then shall qualify to be an elder down south?
Author Bio:
Amanda Oliver Hendricks is a red-dirt, writer most recently published in Wordpeace, The Basil O’Flaherty, and The San Diego Poetry Annual. Hendricks has been privileged to have plays performed in her hometown of Birmingham, AL, as well as, Nashville, TN. These days she most often produces poetry through her body – writing words on the hearts of her young sons the past four years. Hendricks' love for the outcast and story of healing from self-harm can be found at her blog, Trail Mix: The Sweet, Salty, Smooth, Crunchy, and Too Much of Life. She longs to be able to make a living writing Fanfiction.
I will never get on my knees
for a man
only God.
A quotation from someone
successfully seen
or the least
magnolia tree climbing child
dirt frosted
scratched red skin
two inches below the line
where her white skirt would reach?
It was me.
Nothing shall enter upon my mouth
to block the Voice
that pushed
so hard
to get out
it bled
through scratched skin
where dirt told fables visibly loud
to release
by men be cause
to swallow
into the spot my guts
once lived
before I pulled them free
lips covering teeth through
Tears. Words. Tears.
Words. Words. Words.
For years
knees
voices
prayers
the question
when to bend
shoulder to shoulder
not bowed to crotch.
Gawd as Mother
kisses bruises to heal
puts man on pause.
Whom then shall qualify to be an elder down south?
Author Bio:
Amanda Oliver Hendricks is a red-dirt, writer most recently published in Wordpeace, The Basil O’Flaherty, and The San Diego Poetry Annual. Hendricks has been privileged to have plays performed in her hometown of Birmingham, AL, as well as, Nashville, TN. These days she most often produces poetry through her body – writing words on the hearts of her young sons the past four years. Hendricks' love for the outcast and story of healing from self-harm can be found at her blog, Trail Mix: The Sweet, Salty, Smooth, Crunchy, and Too Much of Life. She longs to be able to make a living writing Fanfiction.
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