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Survival for Sinners

weatherman said it was a fast moving system
he didn’t know the wind was calling my name…

While bystanders stand in the sleet without translation
unaware to the sweet sound of natures voice
the street sounds
babies crying and mama’s gotta be up at 6
drunk driver swerving a hit and miss
lovers entwined him searching her lips for a kiss

A clenched fist, a genesis to this fight
the nine to five redefined before sunrise
Day care motherhood replacement
Children lost in the balance
Malcontent inebriation darts off course

the go getta
the storms coming
maybe trouble coming
a reckoning
righter of wrongs
bumbling home in the pouring rain
cleanse me
purify these souls
the greenest green
and let it fall
let it all come down
no pretensions now

I see supporting joints weaken
Cement structures begin crumbling to powder
Simply to the thought of revelation
Once frothing at the mouth in defense
These guard dogs cower beneath our feet for protection
There is a clean slate, A black foundation bleached white
Where old beliefs are plucked like feathers
learning to trust is easier said than done
but we’ve always been one
yeah, we’ve always been one

weatherman said it was a fast moving system
he didn’t know the wind was calling us

SouthernQuill & Lalli

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Pizza Dough & Life Lessons

I just had a memory as I late night snack.  There’s this great pizzeria in Portland, ME called Flatbread Company.  Their boxes said  “Food is Love.” It’s stuck with me ever since. All the great moments in my life have been across a kitchen table with friends, the intimacy of the moment thinking, “Yes, food is love.”  We were laughing, sharing anecdotes, passionately debating, and loving each moment as we drove our points home.  Music played in the background, the songs becoming numbers in the soundtrack of our lives… All those familiar faces who one doesn’t have to say anything to, but reveals everything; the smiles; and the sense of kinship.  A meal brings it together. It brings together families, allowing children to impress their parents and later lends a sense of security, “Yes I was loved.”  Siblings swap memories of kicking each other beneath the table and how mom hated elbows on it and the corny jokes that dad always told- even sneaking to feeding the family pet. Husbands and wives think of the moments of quiet comfort shared over a cup of coffee or those heated moments “before the kids.”  Lovers exchange intimate gazes over candlelight or in a restaurant and feel alone, just the two of them as the world becomes a mist that fades away to the background.  She watches his face of rapture as a flavorful bite of perfectly seasoned Chateaubriand explodes his taste buds.  He looks at her close her eyes in ecstasy as delicate bits of Tiramisu burst into mini pieces of coco richness onto her tongue.  In this, they become children of eros— filled with wanton thoughts and desire.

Where does love take over, at the tip of a spoon or fork? Religions and cultures worldwide view breaking bread as an honor.  It is a sacred act to share one’s meal with another. A Sukuma Afrikaan prayers involves sprinkling water and flour before meals to the four corners of the Earth:

Facing east: “For our ancestors of the distant past.”
Facing west: “For our recent living dead.”
Facing north: “For our living.”
Facing south: “For our yet unborn.”

I don’t know where love takes over but food transcends and as I learned years ago in a crowded eatery filled with strangers, hipsters, squares, youth, and elderly; different heritages, ethnics, and demographics biting into a slice of Coevolution pizza giggling as I dropped tomatoes with a thread of mozzarella on my chin-

Food is LOVE.”

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The rain outside sounds like old tears I’ve cried. 
But lately, I’ve been the sunshine.

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Comments from Facebook not to be confused with Conversations with God

Jesse Bacon makes everything taste better.

February 15 at 12:05am via Mobile Web


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Honey, I’m Home

Dear Readers,

You’ll be glad to know I made it safely to TN.  I had a brief layover in Charlotte before arriving home to a slight drizzle.  It was a joy to my senses.  When I left Phx the sun was raping my skin, so I was happy to feel the slickness of rain… and not sweat.  I would’ve stood in it forever but my cousin/the ride politely told me to “bring my ass on”!  After hugging, assessing, and reassuring we decided each was as their were during the winter holidays and we were free to leave.

While in the airport, I loved seeing the rocking chairs.  Is that a southern airport thing?  You better tell me now as I WILL claim all the good things in the world are predominantly southern.  Yes, we know NY thinks it’s a country, Texas believes itself to be a nation, Florida allows Miami to tell it it’s Cuban (Bless their Hearts), and California… well poor little Cali hasn’t showered in weeks and keeps handing everyone ‘love beads and brownies’.

One Second you guys.

Stop that California!!!  I’m not playing with you.  Oh you think this is funny!?  What?  I have a walrus behind me.  What did you take this time???  Just sit done somewhere, I’m trying to write a letter to my readers!

Ok, where was I? Oh yes…

But in my mind I don’t mind branches, they create wonderful things like fruits, nuts, flowers, & foliage.  However, I like being the roots of things, aiding them along and helping them grow.  Sure folks forget about what in the dirty, but it’s a whole world below affecting everything around it.  Tonight Nashville gave me fireflies and moonlight and before I became too romantic and fanciful it gave me a mosquito bite the size of Gibraltar.  Balance always.

So I began a journal at the beginning of my trip back.  It may or may not end up in my ‘future’ book.  I’ll keep you posted…  I’m trying the one day at a time thing because there are no sureties, just truths.  One thing I know is going home gives perspective.  We learn who we are, who we used to be, and who we can become.  I’ll slide home– finish one transition, recoup , keep my focus.  I don’t care if it grounds me.  If I stand with a cruddy face and motley clothing.  I’ll be no worse for the wear and I will stand and dust myself off.  You just gotta make sure you stand back from the mirror next time when you see yourself rounding third 😉 

If you don’t push yourself, challenge you, and motivate you WHO will?

Travel Light,


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I see a Ham Torta Sandwich in my future….  Everything about it rocks and comes together to do a little Mexican hat dance in my mouth!  Yummy;)  The image below is Taco Mix’s Torta Cubana.  This monster of a torta contains refried beans, mayo, melted cheese, jalapeño peppers, lettuce and tomato, avocado, hot sauce, two slices of boiled ham, one split and grilled hot dog, some hand-carved shards of smoked ham, and, finally, a thin, lightly breaded Milanese-style beefsteak.


It seems to really pack a punch with it’s assortment of meats.  I’m personally of the “if it isn’t broke, don’t fix it” school of idealogy.  However, I think I will experiment with having smoked ham, boiled ham, bacon, and chicken for texture.  I’ll let everyone know how it turns out, finger crossed for Mmmness.

Here’s a simplified recipe from a good friend’s mom!


bolillo bread

refried beans







fresco cheese

Slice bolillo buns in half and spread with lime.  Toast in skillet.  Spread thin layer of refried beans on bun halves and toast again.  Layer one half of bun with ham, lettuce, tomato, onion, avocado slices and fresco cheese.  Slap on top of bun and Ole’!!

*The best thing about this sandwich is it gives you the liberty

to play around and create something easy and delicious!*

Good Luck and Good Eating.

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Fatherless Girl

I wish I knew my father. I wonder how it feels to be Daddy’s Girl.
Growing up, I always told myself and others who asked (which they
always did ask) that No, I didn’t know my dad or miss him. I would
quickly point out ALL of my uncles provided the fatherly love for me.
My favorite reasoning was “You don’t miss, what you never had”.

Coping Mechanism.

Mama said be strong and taught us not to cry. She would get upset
when I cried for him. She taught me very early to always be strong
and not cry. If I fell and hurt myself, she’d say don’t cry. If we
didn’t have food and hunger pains kicked it, don’t cry. If our lights
were cut off, don’t cry. To her, you did not cry over things you
couldn’t change. You focused on getting through it. As a single
parent, this is likely how she maintained her drive and sanity.  For a
child however, sometimes I just wanted to cry.

In time, I learned to not cry and be strong…like mama. No matter
how rough or bad things were, I didn’t break and I survived. I began
to wear my lack of tears like armor and felt invincible. If I didn’t
cry, I could always make it.

But now I’m older and realizing single parents, women, make and raise
mixed genders.



I was raised to be a daughter and a son. To wash dishes and cut
grass. To sweep the floor and take out the trash. Change my own
flats… the oil. In time, I even learned how to fix the dryer when
it went out. I cleaned and beheaded raw fish and skinned the fresh
meat we got sometimes as well as shucking peas and corn. No time for
ickies or worrying about messing up my hair, getting sweaty, chipping
nails, or ruining my clothes.
I never have or if ever I did, it must’ve been brief or driven out by
mama’s sharp reprimands. We do what we must. Single mothers raise
superhero daughters. Independent, self-sufficient women who hate
being vulnerable and associate girlishness with being weak. Even now I
feel self conscious and insecure with my femininity. Clumsy with men at times.
Why? Because it forces me to be aware of my womanliness and it’s an uncomfortable skin.
Inadequate when I do something in their company that’s “girly”, almost
waiting to be ridiculed as a fake.

I wish I knew my father.
He would’ve let me cry. He would’ve said it was okay being weak and
held me while I sobbed. Ironically, in the end, it takes a father to
teach a girl how to be a woman… just as he teaches boys to be men.
He says “No, you can’t do that. That’s for boys.” or “young ladies
don’t act like that”. It is his love that teaches her how she is to
be loved and accept love. I’m crippled.

I wish I knew my father. He would’ve shown me how to bend… how to
be open. But all he left me or gave in his absence, are these
A Legacy of Kryptonite.

So I’m yielding and rebuilding my ideals so I can be Mary Jane or Lois
Lane. Cry without feeling ashamed or validating my tears… feeling
like I’ve let my mother down. That I’m frail.

Truth is my uncles are, my uncles. My cousins being their pride and
joy. They never went home with me. A lot of my friends had very active
dads in their lives or lived with both parents. And I watched them
and yearned and turned that yearning to indifference.

But tonight when I finish you, entry, I’m going to cry for me. I’m
going to cry for the little girl I was, the teenager I’d been, and then I’m
going to cry for the young lady I am… and me.
I’m going to cry for us and the salt of my tears is going to sting
those old hurts and waken those sleeping giants. And it’s going to
sting but I’m going to do it and Heavenly Father will come and he
will hold me while I break and sob.
And the Father will stitch those wounds up with his love and his grace.

I think he has been here all along, waiting for me to have the will to
heal. Sending emissaries with his message and today I finally heard.

A good friend said, “Everyone needs to cry, K”

She was right.
I will.

Kimberley Gladney©


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