There’s a saying you only hear when someone passes away — Give me my flowers while I’m alive. Greeting certainly embodied that sentiment. Her yard was a gift for the senses, a jazzy remix of the ancestors’ wailing, the children’s giggles, and the resident rooster’s early morning Reveille. She didn’t wait for anyone to give her flowers; she planted them herself. With Hope next door offering tea, many walked this way for both the jazzy remix and the tea.
There’s no reason to walk this road anymore. There’s no one to tend the flowers, no one to greet passersby, and no one will offer hope. It’s just me today in search of what once lived here, finding nothing more than a few abandoned shotgun houses sandwiched between steps without houses — the grave markers that remind us of end times — that song without a melody the late great Billy Preston sang about.
Sadly, I had no liquor to pour out for my dead homies, so I sat there on Hope’s grave and let out a wail that reached heaven. And then another in perfect harmony with my ancestors and the angels. And then another that reached the ear of the Holy Spirit. It sounded a lot like Oooooh child. Ooooooh child. Things are gonna get better someday.
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These short scripts are great! They keep you on your toes inquiring about what’s next.