He was bent over, trying his best to walk with the help of a crooked cane that looked like it'd been passed down from the days of slaves.
His hair was sparse, wispy, and white, refusing to lay down, sticking up all over his head as if it was planning its escape with the blowing of the breezes.
Wrinkles covered his face, from forehead to chin, even the skin of his ears.
Ears ever so familiar and keenly tuned to the sands of time falling...
Phlemy voice, rheumy eyes held in place by wrinkles. Mouth chunked with crooked yellow teeth.
He took one step
His journey must've felt like a thousand miles.
(5 minute writing prompt -"Describe an Old Man", Women of Color Writing Workshop 2010)
Thoughts on a Friday ('night Mother) - Last year my cousin’s wife committed suicide. Last week one of my co-workers at the gym committed suicide. This week Kate Spade committed suicide. Yesterday ...
1 week ago