An Ode to Delores

Sometimes I find myself lost in the memories of growing up.

It’s as if some days the past feels so vivid that it’s actually in the present.

A walking time machine…if you will.
I remember my grandma’s worn hands. Do you know those kind of hands?
Those thinking hands.
Those praying hands…
Sometimes, I could feel the pain trapped away behind them…but that didn’t stop her magick.
She would go to the salon, and get them long, almond-shaped.

I could never forget those nails and those magickal hands.

Each finger adorned and glimmering with gold.

Oh…but the stories they told..they were also filled with love and joy.

Those giving hands.

The same hands that would take and mend a broken man.

I remember when my grandma taught me how to sew, and cook — it’s like I can close my eyes RIGHT NOW, and see us in that little white and yellow kitchen, making mac and cheese from scratch.

A true throwback.
Now, anytime I find myself low and out..I think of those hands.

Those beautiful sacred hands….like an altar, full of devotion. Full of divine love.

I thank you, for showing me the magick and the power of those hands.
How to doll yourself up…you know..that Glamour Magick unspooled.

That type of power that show a nigg*, mama ain’t raised no fool.

But I digress..
You know loving you was like Soul Food…on a Sunday.

I’ll always cherish those days and all the ways those hands prayed, loved, and mended.

Forever in our hearts…

I could never forget it.

PLEASURE 222 PRO$PERITY

Love,

B