• Ricardo Hartley III

Soil

dry leaves straying away from the music of the trees

entering a watershed beneath

the darkness made by God

scared of the sacred response

of falling

rebounding on the words of my

mother

“be careful.

you’re one of a kind.”

replaying in my head as a fall from her womb

into a world of endless misinterpretations

craving her warm touch against my cheek

her aura becoming mine

formulating me through the lens of a black woman

her mannerisms becoming the loam needed for

growth, sustainability, confidence

she’s watering my being making it holy--- beautiful

crafted in His image but guided by her thoughts

a sentiment only the roots can aid in


I stray and recognize what I’ve lost

But do I gain it again?