Go tell it on the mountain

say her name and sing her praises

go tell it

run tell dat

Grandma’s hands are no longer wringing the cloth that rinses

Go tell that she lies in a sepulchre sleeping

run out to the streets, tear up the tissue sheets

and pull the wool back from their eyes

She is no longer with us

Go tell it on the mountain

because eyes will weep hearts spill like milk across her clean table

a wave of emotion so massive that it will consume buildings and the mountains we shout from

Go tell the masses that she has gone home

Shout until you’re hoarse and then hoarsely sing until you can no longer speak,

and the vibrations slow into silence for the dead,

cry for me

for all the times you didn’t get to see her or call

for every happy memory

for every half told story that she never finished

Go tell it on the mountain

Stop time, just for a minute.

Let it soak in that she’s gone.

By Ariama C. Long, RIP Clorene Elizabeth Long 7/6/21