AbraxsisStJerome's profile

Leaving America is how I become her champion. A generation before this my mother spoke no English. I trade leather corded into whip for scabbed knuckles like the lowing of cattle and the chuckle of my master who won another bet. I slip the jab then he writes the slip saying I am free. Freedom is a new country where drums can sound of wars past and future. Freedom is red blood between my teeth and fighting for food with the Irishmen on the waterfront in a yard ring of chalk. Freedom is hiring...

A Laying on of Hands Blindness lays hold of my eyes like desert grit. Everywhere it converts sure steps into flinches of knees and elbows anticipating the fall. A vision prostrates me before my camel’s hoof. Blindness steals my reflection. Now, my hands search for a guide they find, my left cheek, my rod, my servant’s knuckle leading me toward Damascus.