by Alora Young
Sins might happen for a reason
One of my mothers never make it past an eighth grade education
Understand that she made a choice at 14 to start a generation
The sins of the father are the sins
His son will learn
Everybody believes they are the exception
Remember children will
Never do as you say.
The day my grandmother learned she was pregnant she was 17
Running away from a generational curse
Education isn't worth much if its propaganda
Everyone knew she was bad, cause she was high yella
Sins of a mother are sins her daughter will learn.
Before my grandfather died he had a child
Everyone told him it was over
And he loved her
Regardless, of how they tried to change his mind.
Seventeen was a lifetime to my great grandmother
Time came down like southern rain from
Raging april skies
And when grandpa was shot down that following july
Never again did they think you could be too young to die
Gifts dont always come in the forms you think they do
Every so often so called sins become blessings.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, was a lifetime
Right before disaster god brings sunshine
Underneath the skin of sinners lies devine
Insight, we are not privy to his plans until it's our
Time.
About the Author
Alora Young is the Youth Poet Laureate of Nashville, Tennessee. she is the chief editor of “The Burro Underground,” and a recipient of the Princeton Prize in race relations and spring Robinson/mahogany red-lit prize. she has previous publications in the 'Signal Mountain Review' literary journal and Rigorous magazine.
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