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The Black Shoe“Praise him! Pra-aise him! Praise him in the morning! Praise him in the noontime! Praise him! Pra-aise him! Praise him when the sun goes down!” About fifty Kenyan children, all dressed in ragged uniforms greeted the Americans in exuberant squeals, singing in nasally broken English. The rays of light from the equatorial sun beamed down on the dusty grey pavement they called their playground, reflecting off their beautiful black faces. Hannah felt such delight and pride in being there with them and sung along with the children. The sisters sat Tamera and Hannah down in two school desktops right above everyone and a boy who looked no mThe Black Shoe
by ~jelleofthewell
Mrs. DallowayI was reading Woolf when fear crawled down my neckMrs. Dalloway
I thought of Kenya and the passport misplaced at Heathrow – an international mishap.
I’ll go down to the Hampton P.O, reclaim myself.
I filled out the missing paper and saw the scene unfold ahead.
Oh, what a larceny! Someone took it, assumed my identity, is now wanted for acts of terrorism – jihad on the Ethiopian state next door could have been a Somalian extremist behind me
in the boarding line.
Kenya will not be safe. &nb
by ~jelleofthewell
TwelveI catch quick sight of the man. As soon as I get a glimpse of him, a surge of hope revives my heart! He is speaking with a priest. I can not let the priest take sight of me, due to my condition so I quickly hide behind a pillar. The priest seems urgent as he speaks. He even bows down before him. This must be a great man. I try to creep forward to get a closer look but as soon as the man begins walking again, a large crowd presses around him, placing him oceans apart from me. I start to follow the crowd, all I get are dirty looks from people I know. Yes, I know a lot of people here. None of them give me a happy greeting. They all deserted me aTwelve
by ~jelleofthewell
The Pilgrim at 39th and PowellHe came accompaniedThe Pilgrim at 39th and Powell
by a tweed briefcase, worn and weathered like him. He stooped to gather up the moldy newspaper, cups, cigarette butts and the collapsed grocery cart. I could help,
should help him. But I watched.
He joined me on the bench, said he hates seeing trash. He took out a rusted key to open his Hartmann – battered Epistles, copper coins, and a beaten-up Hamlet lay within the leather trim.
Holding up each coin, he retold histories
by ~jelleofthewell
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- Current Residence: virginia
- Interests: film, expression in every form, everlasting joy, antimodernity
- Favourite movie: Beauty and the Beast
- Favourite band or musician: denison witmer, rosie thomas, new pornographers, sufjan stevens, david bazan
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