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Date Written: September 30, 2017

Playing from an advantageous point of

strength rather than your weakness

was the distinction borne by me

Hers was won, to quote the Bible:

‘My grace is sufficient for you,

for my power is made perfect in weakness’

I need not be meek to attain Your grace and

make You powerful, in my multitude of sufferings

which even makes the crucifixion a mild showcase

My raison d’etre is always ‘Stand Up!’


Kindness was never her strong suit

her daily faux pas was dropping the cooked grain

on the dirt road as the meals were prepared

in a communal setting on the big, black coal stove

pots with no handle and thin tattered rags were

her undoing, as I watched from my alcove

Stand Up!

Demand a pot with handle or better mittens!

The Kitten doth not complain,

the beatings she endured, only receive to

gifts of guilt for her bane existence



Bloodied knees, bruised palms, feeling for

something to aide me as my tenacity knew no bounds

I fell to the ground repeatedly, as she pushed me

refusing to allow me a game of hop-scotch

Stand Up I did in a battle of David versus Goliath

I swung the metal puck with a velocity that

wedged between her eyes on her forehead

I ran away to duck

before the crimson tide erupted


After the furore had died down

I walked insouciantly into my abode

to bear witness to her glory

an overwhelming plethora of pity

and attention she was bestowed

followed by sweets to appease the

crack head, for it was obscured

wrapped in an oversized bandage which

common sense dictates, she should use

with the cooked grain she hauled daily


Behind me stood my judge, jury and executioner

to preside over the incident of the minor scratch


Stand Up I did from my bed with

injuries I carry to this day from the

game and the punishment meted out

to play alone forever; as a veneration

to the insurrection of my Strength

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