On The Mountain
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
The Poetry Corner 