30 DAYS OF JAYE: Widowwalking

They talk in crowded, quiet rooms

In matters of death

and the life thereafter.

They talk of in time,

Never minutes or hours—

Always years.

Years gone.

Years ahead.

Years spent.

They speak of papers,



And dresses.

They speak in

Ancestor whispers

Holding hands,

Infusing strength,


And peace.

This trinity, known to those

Who have buried husbands,

Committed the crime

Of marrying one made from

The dirt of a foreign soil.

In such processions,

All are quiet.

All are watching.

All are wailing.

All are mourning.

All are morning.

We, clad in the armor of black,

Steady as thunder, are

Loud and noticed.

We are the spiritual walkers.

-JBHarris, (c) 11.14.2019